rncwriting

[rncwriting]

warning (random ass title)

i am temporary. a lesson. an anecdote spoken to the next. a narrative spun so much that you are no longer aware of who i truly was. a chronicle that passes your lips, exposing what i thought would say battened to the back of your brain, explaining to the next facsimile of me why you    have    to hurt her.

i can go on. i am aware enough to know that at least, as a lesson, i better him for the next. that he will understand, whether that must be in the future or the present, one day, he will finally understand the beauty i had revealed to him. the information passes on, the value, will not have him turning and tossing, and instead will bring him to peace. knowing i can help, despite my troubles, gives    me    peace.

about a man i once knew. no longer think 

[rncwriting]

past

i am a vessel. a simple hollow vessel made to hold. hold worries, hold sorrows, hold accomplishments. hold those that are not mine.

i feel as if im an empty vase, once full of beautiful, blooming flowers. but what is beautiful cannot stay. i was moved from place to place, my petals ripped and shredded one by one, until i felt i could not grow anymore. the harshness of the words, of the  hands  had stunted all i had left.

now i stand, stalks as high as four centimetres, begging the sky and the sun and the birds to help me arise from the dark waters in which im drowning, but they never listen, and perhaps they never will, but i will persevere in my desperate cry.

[rncwriting]

untitled (waffle)

my biggest want is to know. the fear i feel not knowing is insufferable. it is a physical ache, a stomach bug, like long, winding nails gripping and scratching at the insides of my lungs, stealing the breath i had. i suppose thats why i write. i figure its a way to spill everything onto the page and pray i can piece it together like an 1000 piece puzzle with broken edges.

i love my partner but sometimes im afraid even half of this burden will be too much for him to carry. or worse, he cant understand. he will never figure out what goes where, and how these fit. he'll get frustrated, lose his understanding, that the not knowing will refuse to turn into sadness as it has for me, but instead manifest into anger. i wouldn't blame him. im not exactly looking for a permanent solution, just for someone to help me tape those same puzzle pieces into a vague image. help me  make sense of it.

i find it awfully difficult to believe anyone is truly happy. maybe im just pessimistic, but life just feels like a series of distractions.

[rncwriting]

(work in progress)

im sure its going to be a lovely day. im sure the yellow sun beams will split the rocks, the birds will continues to bellow out their song, and the blue buses will keep running, their orange lights breaking through the mist. im sure the river will flow, and the fish will chase the quick current as they always do.

however, it does not feel like it for me. i can see the beauty of Persian cars wandering the tall grass from building to building, the people shuffling from their warm homes to their not-so-warm schools and workplaces, their hair dishevled and a half-made bagel in their lips. i can see the beauty of the traffic, and innocence, and sunrises. i can even see the beauty in me, in my eyes glistening as i raise them to the clouds in the smile that grazes my lips as i hold a strangers gaze.

sometimes i wonder if they feel how i feel. that unique tiredness weighing down their feet and eyes, that ache on the left side of their head when their thoughts overtake like the silver ford to their left. i wonder if they ever feel like theyre constantly, desperately trying to flick their lighter, the sparks flying everywhere, burning those surrounding them, leaving marks on peoples skin and soul, apologising profusely when all they want to do is glow in the black.

[rncwriting]

pretentious waffle (i suck at titles man what the frick)

i dont feel like me anymore. i am so far removed from me twoyears ago, from me one year ago ago, from me six months ago, from me last week, and from me yesterday.

everything feels as if its passing by me in a blur. these hands are not mine, these feet are not mine, these actions are not mine.

coming to terms with the fact that everything is the same yet different.

i am stuck.

stuck in a constant, perpetual state of living, loving and leaving. i cant take it anymore.

i heretofore believed i was drowning. but now i fee as if i am nothing but a small strand of plastic floating into the deep, open ocean, unaware of horrors that await, no land, no salvation in sight. it is petrifying.

i know nothing of how to continue perspectively.

being alive doesn't feel like being alive.

i seem to be opposite. the simple act of living brings worry, consternation, anxiety. i think of the natural occurences inside of my body, my intestines, my nerves, my heart, and i feel feeble, almost debilitated. my vision starts to flatten, my hearts pulsations surge.

all i can do is anticipate the end.

[rncwriting]

ill

i feel so sick in this body.

yet i dont look sick in this body.

all the moments i spend in front of that reflection, that body with blemishes, wounds, discolouration, contours, staring back at me, taunting me, cannot be mine.

all the moments i spent carving the illness into my, soaking in the cherry red and aches, trying to show people the cracks beginning to form in my bones, yet no one believed.

hitherto, i had come to terms with others viewing me and my shell as this odious being, dealing with a manifold of arbitrary, insignificant matters, who partakes in aggrandising behaviours in hopes of a second look, of a light caress.

but now it just hurts.

[rncwriting]

narcissism

i feel i have the ability to pick people in which i can give more of myself to. theres so many humans out there who hold a piece of me, whether it be the way they articulate themselves, or the fabric they put on their back, or the melody in their head, i am always there.

i give so much of myself and truly never speak of wanting anything back. i sincerely think its beautiful that i can look into someones eyes, a someone whom i knew what feels like many lifetimes ago, and find that their soul is still hanging onto the threads of my now absent place, painfully gripping onto the strings of how i used to be. of how i used to laugh in spite of misfortune, of how my voice used to lilt as i spoke their name, of how my breath sounded out when they felt they were alone.

they will look for me in every other character they meet. they will look for the tangles in my hair. they will look for the shine of my eyes. they will look for the safety pins clinging to the sleeves of my shirt.

i do not think highly of myself, but i know my being leaves a stamp on those who come across it. i know i brand the spirits of those who hear the words roll off of my tongue.

[rncwriting]

consumer

let me love you. let me understand you. let me pull your heart from your throat, and let me read the blackened spots from the smoke like my favourite novel. if you feel you dont deserve my compassion, let me venerate the way you crinkle your face whilst my hand caresses your skin, let me reverse the words that pass your lips, let me worship the sweat that drips from your skin, and the flesh which keeps you encased. let me show you how much you're sincerely worth.

your words sound out like the libretto of my favourite song, your eyes speak to me as if i have never had another lover, and your body warms me when the cold overtakes my being.

bear your soul before me and i will tender it. i will observe as the dark, black, damp mist dissipates and the flowers sprout out from your ribcage. as the light starts to luster the sun, and your heart and teeth beam with elation. as the roots of you begin to cultivate, the sharpness burrowing into the heels of my feet, deep beneath the dermis, stretching upwards throughout my body and piercing into my soul, flooding all of my senses as you take over me. i wouldn't have it any other way, for my life means nihility without you.