it’s me in your glass

this one’s for the person who commented after somehow finding this blog that’s been active for like 3 minutes.

what the hell? as you should be able to tell, my posts don’t have meaning, they ramble, and they go on separate tangents without purpose. get over it.

some people in the world think it’s up to them to seek out other people’s mistakes and point them out to not only the person, but also to everyone else they can see.

but if you’re offended at what i say in here, you’re stupid. nothing is personal. it’s for me, not against you.

you’re not better than me. it just seems that way. the way you never call. the way you’re never there. the way you don’t even attempt to contact me. you’re not only a gender of indifference, you’re a gender of always trying to be better than me, and always worrying about it. i think you are god and you don’t think about it. i’m a slave to you. just another guy. just another mouth. just another heart. but is it like that? should you really believe that i’m just another one? you don’t even know me. why am i the one who makes you think? why am i the one who makes you yearn for more. you need me. i can be yours. but i don’t get the chance. leave your boyfriends.

too fucking happy. why can’t blogs just all be the same style? why can’t i use my own template that says, “i’m pissed, so i’m writing here.” but no, they’re all too smiley. it’s hard to find inspiration when i’m staring at a bright white screen. maybe listening to emo music will help. emotions are what everything is about, after all. right? so stop being so fucking happy.

whatever. your phone’s ringing. if you answer, enjoy. if not, goodnight. this is for you.

then again, i’m tired. skin so smooth. i’m in the mood for something new.

call me up, i’m interested.

why should i go to sleep? i don’t want to sleep. but why should i stay up? i have nothing to do. i wish someone would call me. i wouldn’t mind a friendly voice. someone who cares. i’d rather you actually care if you call upon me. i don’t want to be the one caring about you. it’s time for you to talk to me about me. not to me about you. i need some care too. because what if i run out of care. i need to borrow some of yours. cuz you have most of mine right about now. hope you’ve had your fill, i’m running out of ideas. but i care. for a reason unbeknown to me.

forget the things they told you. they lie. i don’t lie. i can save you. trust in me.

fuck setting goals for yourself, writing it down, seeing it every day and knowing you’re not going to do it. fuck more than procrastination, it’s apathy. i’ll write the papers when i get around to it. as long as it’s before the weekend. shit.

i’m sick of age bringing me down. let me out of school. let me get a real job. let me live my future. but then again, let me enjoy what i’ve got now, cuz isn’t that important?

just let me listen to music. give me good quality music without making me pay. give me what i want for free. give me what i want before i ask for it. many little sources working in conjunction could be the perfect source. but they don’t work together. i can get some songs from a band to play in order. but then it stops, and silence erupts. i can listen to similar artists, but i can not choose the artists or the songs. i can watch countless videos but can not filter out the live ones, or have them streaming endlessly.

what i want is a library of every song ever with no repeats and no shit-ass live versions. and give it to me for free. it’s all online. it’s all free. it’s all semi-legal. but make it legal. make it mine. i don’t want to sell it. i don’t want to distribute it, i just want to listen. indefinitely. if you please.

sometimes i hear you talk, and i wonder why you don’t hear me talk. i hear the things you say and want to cry. but i don’t cry. it’s not that big of a deal, is it? you play with your life like it doesn’t matter. you pretend people don’t care if you hurt yourself. you think it’s what they’d want. you think you can just bleed away the pain. but when the cut heals, and you pain subsides, the power ends, doesn’t it? the control you thought you had is lost. and you are left worse. you have the blood and the scars and the fear you had before your action. your actions are supposed to free you, but you are not freed. your action becomes your addiction. never pleased. always afraid. you don’t need to fear the rejection.

i am here. and you should value it. you say you value my compassion, but give me a break. you fucking think about how bad it is, but think about the people who can’t eat. spend your time feeding them. give them help. FUCK YOU. you are not above the people who drink and do drugs because you hurt yourself as much as they. but you can’t cut with your friends. socially unexcepted, you are not what you could be.

and as you slice through your flesh, think about your mother. think about how she would feel if she knew you were defacing yourself. if she knew you were so unhappy. for if she knew, she would surely feel great remorse. she may yell, she may scream, but she cares. she loves you more than anyone in your life, and shows it in a way you are not used to. but if you just accept her, you will see it. if you talk to her and let her accept you for who you are, you will not fear. you will not be angry. and you will be at peace.

but fuck caring. i care. i have no reason for caring. maybe it’s just because we spent that short time together. maybe it’s because i know you. or maybe it’s just because I CAN HELP. seeing something where you can help someone but do not help is just as bad as if you are causing them problem.

right? we need more people in this world who help people who need help. even if others are helping as well, if you can help someone, you should be the one to save them, not somebody else. and give them food. and give them homes. and give them LOVE. you have no idea.