Mostly Dead (mostlydead) wrote,
Mostly Dead
mostlydead

it's been years

and I've not just been gone, but I've been gone inside, buried deep within something denied, maybe pride, or something I hide that feeds a laziness, I must confess, an apathy has swallowed me and my mouth, once so secure, is now always hungry, mouth always hungry, but there's no more room unless I burst...

and so I watched TV all night because my roommate slept on the couch and sure enough the tap tap tap of the keys in that first paragraph woke him oh well how much can I stay silent and lost in a vegetative ambivalence that undermines every desire and dream I've ever known (except maybe eating anything I want anytime I want, but the body will give out before long, after all, I am not immortal)...

I was sad about this place since last I came here because I came here a couple of weeks ago, that would be two, to be exact, and I wrote an entry I like about love because it was Valentine's day and there's so much love in this world, and in me, but no one just sharing with me these days, yet the hope rose above the loneliness and the rhyme stirred my heart and my smile went wide only to find that I somehow deleted the entry without knowing...

sad...

and it's been years since I loved one on one anyone outside of my professional one on one relationships that have kept me alive and feeling in spite of the emptiness where personal romance belongs dee inside, a void of wanting, waiting, longing, hungry for passion and undivided attention, affection and unconditional love, devotion and unwavering trust...

and food is a band-aid that lasts for a moment or hour or few, sometimes, but a few hours later, or after I wake up, the bloat feels so stupid, so foolish, so full of self-destruction, a craving suicide for oral fixation, for sensual stimulation, for all the right hormones that come from true love or sugars and starches and comfort foods...

do we know what we do to ourselves?...

I get sad when I realize I do, I know, the choice is either to go numb, walking, dead, or to find another way to satisfy the hunger for sensual experience and hormonal surges and without another person to balance the stimuli, too easily we can become addicted to the one or few we can give ourselves and then further imbalances leave us longing for more and less apt to find the balance as we spiral out of control toward the end of the road...

sad...

it's been years of imbalance, not nearly as off as many I see around me each day, and that saddens me more, for I don't want to throw myself off even further by getting too close to another who is more imbalanced than I am, so alone I sit and type, and alone I watch TV, and alone I sit and read, and alone I go to bed, and alone I find my comfort in the foods of my youth and this body doesn't want to be like everybody else, either numb, mostly dead, or over-stuffed by over-indulged taste buds and substance inspired hormonal surges, so I sit here alone, writing rambling collections of words that no one reads...

or sometimes, maybe, someone reads... maybe someone even reads this deep into the babble, maybe someone even reads between the lines, maybe someone even reads the timeless archives, the other websites, the many faces, many moods, many ways I've tried to express everything I feel inside... and here I am again, not dead, but mostly dead, and bloated, tired, wasted, aimless, waiting for someone to inspire me to save myself from boredom and ambivalence with just the right mix of stimulation, right for me, right for her, right for us...

but nothing changes, no one is here, in time and space, no one's here except all these other people more imbalanced, more shut down, or more bloated than I ever want to get and I haven't gone there yet, which does not make me sad...
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