Words Needing Music

Innocent right?  Look at them. Hanging with rubber bands from my building's front door. Hurriedly thrown by a uni student trying to earn some cash. On top of, or partially under, or next to my doormat. Some sneaky enough to actually slide under my door and into my apartment's foyer. Under my car's windshield wipers. On the seat of my motorcycle. Why pay them more than a moment's notice? Because they make me boil. They make the monster stir. The disrupt it's slumber. They force me to fight. And I have things to do. I have things to not think about. I wish I was addicted to something else. Such a sad thing to say. But I found quiet in food. And then I found despair there. And I've been fighting with it for so long it seems forever.  And today, even after working out, even after throwing a basket ball around, I saw them and I remembered the storm is still going on. It feels forever ago I won and it feels forever ago I lost. And there they are. Tempting me to forget...

Musically Enchanting, Lovingly Inconsistent, Naturally Abstract Now, only capitals 

Το bullying είναι κακό πράγμα.  Μπορώ ίσως να συγχωρέσω εκείνη την τρίτη δημοτικού, αγόρια και κορίτσια, που αντί να με δεχτεί σαν καινούριο μαθητή, με πέταξε στο τσιμέντο και με έδειρε ομαδικά. Δεν θα τους συγχωρέσω όμως ποτέ την πράξη. Γιατί με τρομοκρατεί από τότε. Και μου έμαθε ένα σωρό ακλόνητα ψέματα. Και δε με αφήνει να μεγαλώσω. Δε με αφήνει να ονειρευτώ και να ζήσω χωρίς τόσο φόβο. Γιατί με οδήγησε στον εθισμό. Στη μανιακή εύρεση καταφυγίου. Απομόνωσης. Στην έλλειψη πίστης στον εαυτό μου. Με οδήγησε στο να μην πιστεύω βαθιά ποτέ ότι κάποιος με αγαπά. Να μη χαλαρώνω με την αγάπη. Να μην την εμπιστεύομαι. Ελπίζω πως μπορώ ακόμα να διδάξω στην ψυχή μου πράγματα. Ελπίζω ότι ο λόγος που στα 31 μου νιώθω μικρό παιδί είναι γιατί περιμένω να έρθει κάποιος, να με σηκώσει από το τσιμέντο, και να μου πει ότι δεν θα με κλωτσήσουν όλοι. Δεν χρειάζεται να φοβάμαι για πάντα. Γιατί εγώ τραγουδούσα. Ήμουν γελαστός. Δεν ήμουν ντροπαλό παιδί. Γιατί ζω τρομοκρατημένος τόσο πολύ? Γιατί καταφεύ...

I'm sunk in introspection again as per usual. But this time it feels different. I'm rediscovering myself. I just take these moments of flying for what they are. Ephemeral clouds that will dissolve before you can give them that second glace of appreciation. Hoping the same will someday apply to moments of blackness. Those four numbers, my phone is always showing me, just keep on counting. And I'm going from one fuck it to the next. Hoping one day will find me happy. Cause it was forever ago I remember being so. 16:00 In one hour I'll go and teach someone the love for music. That's one hour of looking far away in front of me. Feeling small and helpless in front of two legged regret cursing at me. Reminding me how much I've hurt me. How much I've hurt you. And taught you hate and loath. Cause that's what I ever knew. Pain and addiction. Sadness and addiction. Self torture and addiction. Terror and addiction. Love and addiction. Instead of listening to bruti...

Just another day of pestering, soft violence.  And for what? Because I should be filled with me. Instead I'm filled with you. But you're not there. And my head is hot. So much thought and feeling. So much processing of information. So much conducting of emotion. Because I never occupied my earthy vehicle. I put, you, inside. A long time ago. Yesterday. And now it feels yours. I rudely yanked you out a little less time ago. Yesterday. But I'm not inside. I can look into my eyes in the mirror. But I just see your soul staring back. What would I do if I saw us from a distance dancing around eachother? What moment would I change? Should I change?.. And if it's empty why does it feel so heavy? Unless it's not empty. And the sound of your name must be taken out. And replaced with what? Voiding you from me terror ineffable.

I'm walking through a forest.  I feel lost even though, it seems, the forest is where I'm supposed to be. Behind the trees, of indeterminate distance, sound screams. They're not scary. They're sad. I want to help even though I never learned how. There are many paths. They don't feel safe though. They're not mine. My path. And they themselves change. Dissappear and appear again. Like the people walking them. I sometimes walk them. Briefly with their occupants. Often alone. But I abandon them. Or they abandon me, beneath my feet. They are not mine. My path. Is it somewhere and I'm supposed to find it? Other travellers insist I'm always on my path. But I look down and I only see grass and roots. I wish I could find your path and walk it with you. But I understand that's not how this damned forest works. I'm left searching for the screams. So I can help whoever is in trouble. Sad and alone and fallen on the grass and roots. These deafening screams. S...