Lost Not Found

I like to believe fucked up people always find each other. Almost like a pack of wolves. Coming out of hiding when the world falls quiet. Only to disrupt it with our harmonizing screams. Letting each other know we aren’t alone. There are others out there, filled with the same fear of living. The same inability to sleep rattles through there brain as much as mine. Insomnias constant whispers are everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Leaving us fucked up ones to find each other. Scattered along the path of no hope and giving up. Along with the bones of those who never made it to the end. Fear is a funny thing you know. It’s not strong enough to be seen but intelligent enough to find human weakness. We bend rocks, build houses, create a new breed of animal. Yet we still find ourselves chocked up in the face of fear. As fucked up humans, we feel to deeply and shatter as easy as a glass bottle being dropped as its pieces scatter across the kitchen floor. Spilling the water and sometimes the tiniest of drops spilling over the edge cause the tears to fall. We are not haunted by mistakes of the past but consumed by the fear of others opinions. Our souls, drained like the hopeless generation we are. You see we jump out of planes, we go so far underwater, it’s a miracle we haven’t drowned yet, we drive to fast on icy roads, wear less clothing in the cold, drink shot after shot, sometimes alcohol other times bleach. We’d do anything to feel the worlds attention on us, just for a moment before the quiet gets scary, and the loneliness returns. But in the end no matter how far off the path we walk, we always know how to get back to the others. Sniffing each other out. Like a pack of wolves.

It’s like my life has hit a serious of fortunate events. And I am so scared it is just going to drop. Be pushed off a cliff into the water to drown. And as that happiness reaches its peak so is that anxiety. Because it is there and eventually it is going to irrupt and it’s going to be horrific. It’s going to shaking and bones failing agents the pressure of the world being dropped on your shoulders. The weight you thought was gone just suddenly reappears and you break. You try to keep yourself prepared and on edge so when that weight returns you will be ready. But it never happens because you wanna feel as if the world is okay for five minutes and just as you are getting used to the feeling, it’s gone. Ripped away leaving you bare and Alone. And you wanna reach out but you don’t wanna bother people. Or watch the disappointment spread on there face as you admit you’re not doing better. And it’s gettin bad again. So you sit there quietly, listening to the wind at 4 in the morning feeling the tears roll down your checks but feeling too numb and unmotivated to even wipe them away. So I hate to say the words I’m happy out loud for the fear that something out there will hear my cheers and push me off the edge again. Causing me to tumble and fall and drown in the water.

Last night I didn’t sleep. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to or that I wasn’t tired. Last night I cried for hours. I just couldn’t feel anymore. Last night I tried to kill Myself. Not physically, but it played on repeat in my head like it could be my saving grace.

Last night I took a pill. Said it was supposed to make me sleep. It didn’t. So I took another. Last night I didn’t want to see today. Last night I remembered when I was a child, running around in the sunlight with a warm fuzzy feeling in my stomach. Last night I forgot what it feels like to be happy. Last night I realized I don’t remember the last time I was happy. Last night I cried for hours and hours feeling nothing but emptiness.

“What's wrong Lou?" Harry's voice was soft in the quiet room. “I'm drowning Hazza" Louis said through the never ending tears.

My brother sits down, his eyes a watery mess as his face holds onto the high his rolled blunts caused. People have a problem with that. They have a problem with the way he doesn't seem to function correctly unless a bowl, blunt, or bong sits lazily in his thin hands. People have a problem with the way the odd smell doesn't affect him anymore, or the way his smile only shows when he feels light headed and hungry. People have a problem with the way it fucked up his life. But it never fucked it up. It never destroyed him. The real problem was the people who hated him for being him. So what, he likes to feel the weed sting his throat, who gives a fuck if he likes to feel so high that nothing can stop him. It's his life, he doesn't need your fucking two sense.

Anxiety is a black rose in a field of bright red ones. It's the biggest earthquake you'll ever feel. The way it makes my body shake, almost as if I were freezing. It turns bumps into mountains that feel impossible to climb. Impossible to get over. Things that shouldn't scare me do and I spend my nights with storms in my eyes, leaving warm puddles in my weak heart.

I stand here watching the loud band dance around the small stage. Their energy spread through the crowd like a wild fire, spreading it's beautiful orange glow over the small faces of the mindless bystanders, as they lifelessly fall deep into a trance the music holds over their small minds. The loud horn of the passing train doesn't seem to disrupt the ongoing party that happens only feet way. I watch as the dull colors pass by all blending together to create a blur of things as my mind thinks about things I could be doing, things I would rather be doing. Things I know I shouldn't want to be doing. My parents stand only inches away as my dad rocks back and fourth with my mom under his arm. A smile engraves itself in his tired, unshaved face as his bum arm doesn't seem to stop him from having a good time. I turn my attention back to the passing train as the singer screams deeply into the mic something on the line of "wouldn't you love to die right now?" And I find my lips curving into a smile as I think about how it would feel if I was in front of the passing train. My worries and fears would slowly shrink until they just disappear completely. My steady breathing would slowly slip away and the hatred I had for myself, would feel as though it never existed. It would be a sweet bliss compared to my Dailey struggles. And I think for once in my life I would be happy. My thoughts dance around my brain, as my body craves something I simply can't have. My perfectly curved smile feels heavy as it falls. The sad realization that I'm still alive suffocates any hopeful thought in my mind, as my mom puts her hand in my face laughing and smiling. Telling me it's time to go, as we move away from the crowd. I look back every now and then as we walk back to the shuttle stop and stare at the small glow of an orange candle, a flame that used to be bigger than the world surrounding it was now only a small flicker in my eye

Cold water on an empty stomach