My life is full of so many loving people, but they will always strangers to me. No one knows my feelings and I can't imagine anybody that would want to know what goes on in this little head. No one knows the songs that reach down my throat and grab at my heartstrings until I'm being played like a harp. And I have so many people in my life, but they're all at a distance. They've always been just out of reach. There are so many walls around me, walls that I have never wanted, and never will want. I want to get out of here, set foot on the soil of every country until my feet are black. Until exotic flowers stem from my toes and I'm turned into the most beautiful garden anyone has every seen.

I keep drinking, but my thirst is never quenched. Isn't it a miracle that even some live to be one hundred? There are millions of instances, of ways to die that are out of our control, yet I've made it this far. I've never broken a bone, never even had a cavity, but each space in between my breaths brings me closer to death. But is also what keeps me alive. Am I ready? Are any of us ever ready for anything? I live the way I live because I've been taught to plan for my future, a future that may not even exist. I've also been taught to live every day like it's my last, but how can I do both? Lovely things stay at a distance because I'm too busy being educated about the sentence structure for phrases I may never say and conversions of chemical reactions that just might wait to take place until my body is decomposing, which I, of course, won't live to see.

Why is it so much easier for us to love the imperfections of someone else rather than our own? The way you bite your lip when you're holding something back. I love it, you hate it. The way I can never walk in a straight line. Well, maybe you don't love that, but then again, neither do I. I don't love the way everyone holds on just because they don't want to be alone, but that's also because I am that way. Watching the skipping stones jump across the water until they sink to the bottom, that's just it, it's living. We just keep going and are admired just up until we start sinking, and at that point no one cares anymore. When we hit the bottom we just get buried back into the earth, a skipping stone is just a rock, and a rock is nothing beautiful to look at.

I would really love to start over new. Get in my car, fill up my tank of gas, and drive until it runs on empty. Keep on going when the the little orange light flashes up at me, no matter where I am, I'll be happy. I might meet someone new, someone interesting, with a life story far better than mine. A story that breaks my heart with sadness and makes my eyes tear up in laughter. I wish I could know everyone, I get a sinking feeling inside with the fact that I never will. Millions of faces that I'll never see, with smiles that will stay forever worthless to me. I feel like that's not how it should be. I'm trapped in the world I've been raised in, but it's all my fault that I haven't gotten myself out of it yet. My car is sitting less than twenty feet away from my body, yet I hold myself back because I know I would cause disappointment. I have repetitive dreams where I get sliced up by ceiling fans, I wonder what that means. Or spinning my car out of control through the air and watching my clothes fly around the inside of my car in slow motion as the blood drips down my hands. And outside of my window birds fly past me, just living their lives while my car crashes down on the ground below them, but of course I don't die, I walk away from crushed metal that once was my car and all I wonder is what I'm doing with my life.

I cannot find a pattern and make it stick
Nothing is beautiful enough to keep going on forever
The repetition becomes dull, tiresome
I would like to meet you
A handshake that says hello to a life that's just beginning
And if I've already met you,
I'd like to know you
Know the inside of your hands,
your scars and their stories
how you're feeling by looking at your eyes
But I cannot help but want to run away
from the thought of my life on re-run
Maybe you will run with me
Maybe you feel the same
I'd like to think I'd prefer the repetition of someone
rather than being alone

and i feel dead because i'm not really living my life, just what everyone else considers living. i don't like following a plan, but what else would i do? i want to set my foot on every inch of the earth, yet i've lived in indiana my entire life. i feel like i'm inside of a cage and you just won't stop talking no matter how loud i yell. i hate when you talk about him like that and i hate when he talks about you like that. i never want to hear it. i can't even look at you in the face without snapping myself in half and it's funny because you are never there to pick up the pieces.

i'm content on my own, even in times like these, but that doesn't mean i don't miss you. and it's better to feel loved than to feel alone even if you want no one else around. i want to count the raindrops on the window before they're all gone. it's like the sky is crying a battle for how many tears it can shed and it always wins no matter how big of a puddle i leave on the floor yet no matter where the tears come from, they evaporate the same.

The hours start repeating themselves
Like the hands of the clock moving the same circular path
The only thing differentiating each hour
are the numbers we read
Just the page numbers of story of our day to day life
A 24 page book with the same ending up until we die
Days and weeks turn into months with no change but the seasons
The calendar is just a piece of paper,
Leading you to think your life is full of importance
While your mind is numb to the thought of your dull life
I sit awake hoping that it will never be me
That I will find myself never in just one place