I hate...no, I hate that I..

I never go too much into detail when I post a blog on here, nor do I update on any type of reconciliation to my problems. I was asked this, the immediate answer was "I'm lazy." Such a point would make sense, seeing as I update the blog sporadically at best now.

I have a name for the type of love I display. It's broken love, it's the result of being abused for majority of my childhood until I was 15. Let's proceed past that, this isn't a therapy session, this is me explaining my love...my love for the fucking bitches I have been with.

Broken Love

A character so flawed that it shined in his transparent aura, a permanent scowl embedded on his face, brows arched downward, indicating his disappointment.

To show that he cares, he doesn't. to show his affection, he instead displays coldness and hatred. They ask why and he shrugs. The exterior, which is as icy as a gust from the Arctic, hides something much more pure, genuine, but he forced that into submission. The cold, a foreigner before, brings a wave of sick pleasure over him, his psyche becoming more damaged, more flawed, trotting a handful of secrets and burdens not to be shared with anyone.

It's a known fact I talk about my life through prose and illusions, I display how fucked up I am, how my fucked up nature still persuades me to find a female companion, only to fuck her up the same way I fucked up all of the others. They all forged acceptance until it became too much, kicked me out of their lives, but wanted to maintain a leash on our "friendship", a figment of their imaginations. I don't consider any of them real friends; I don't confide in them anymore; I've eliminated that aspect.

I feel pieces of my humanity slip away a lot. I've attempted to project a humanistic personality, but it feels so...unnatural. Smiling, talking, social interaction, I hate it. Darkness, quietness, loneliness. I've come to be content with it.

I hate that side of me...that warm, loving side. The side has continuously fucked me for the some of the biggest disappointments, and had probably induced much more inner pain than I have ever experienced physically.

How cold can I go?

Shards

Her wild side complemented my cold exterior. Undeniably lovable, but with a stark willingness NOT to show it.

Her beautiful curly hair contrasts my rough braids, my manliness in true harmony with her innocence, her flair, to call her a beauty would be an understatement on the absolute perfection that embodies her.

Nothingness. Blinded by sand, my eyes closed, feeling around, aimlessly, my dense personality personified.

She offers a key, but tosses it into the darkness, my task to retrieve the key which holds so much potential, a Pandora's box in her own right, a collision of love and hate, Hatred with gluttonous intentions. It rattles in the darkness, offering a clue where it may be at.

Dropping to my knees is quite possibly the stupidest thing I could do, death in the dark, my knees grinding deep into the shards of glass on the floor. I offered a weak 'ha', fully aware of the hopelessness, fully aware of my lofty success rate, and slowly press my open palms onto the ground, blood trickling down, following the path of arches on my hand.

A deafening roar erupts out of me, the hopelessness of my situation settling it. A once brightly lit room, we both destroyed it, smashing every light overhead, causing chalk-colored glass to rain. More blood rushes out of my body as my search becomes more frantic, anxiously waiting for the imprint of a key to rub against my fingers. No such event occurs and I begin to suspect that the key may have been a mirage, a hallucination I induced out of desperation? I saw her, I fucking SAW her. She was here...just not now. She never really is here...my heart is a game that she absolutely trifles with, I'm nothing more than an object to appease her boredom.

A sadistic smirk arises.

The bitch.

She...did destroy this world...our world, with me...

Didn't she...you?

Dear..

My imagination is just as active as yours, and though I don't detail what I think of you, thoughts of our rendezvous actively burst in my head, and though I trust you and can confide in you, I become hesitant to tell you what I feel for you because you won't believe me, and even if you did, what could we do about it right now, in the present?

It's easy to write about you, that was proven two months after we actually began talking and I wrote that poem for you, and even then, I was hesitant on letting you read it. I never wanted you to think I was a creep writing about you. It's how I express myself, I aim for it to be memorable, I hope I've done a good job thus far.

You're more than just that "dream" or "fantasy", I've come to appreciate your presence when you make a guest appearance in my head. It's normally a cinematic event, and regardless of how serious I have tried to keep my face, I can't help but smile at you. I enjoy talking about you, thinking about you, outside my high, I still think of you, and you still make me smile.

I may have realized your existence some 20 or so months ago, but I feel like I have known you my whole life, and I've never been able to say that about anyone. Our unique relationship is the highlight of the bonds and relationships I've formed, it is extremely special. I've never met anyone quite like you, and I'm happy I haven't; I get to experience only you. I feel connected to you in a sense.

I never thanked you for what you did, accepting me at my worst and maintaining an interest in me throughout it. I know I'm a hell of a burden. You like it though, haaa :).

Gracias, amor

Cement the Void

Realization itself is a pain, if presented as such. The pain of losing someone you love hurts because emotionally, you're still attached while mentally you know you have to force yourself to move on. There are many different types of break ups, and while some people can split appropriately, more often than not one of the two will be hurting a lot more than their former partner. It happens.

Nothing really compares to discovering the one you love seeks attention elsewhere. This could be the consequence of a break up, but it can also be because of adultery. In any case, it leaves the discovering partner debilitated inside, to know you aren't "special" in that way anymore.

An infinite amount of possibilities are possible to how one would act after realizing such a thing, I'm going to try to discuss my side.

It propels one to accelerate the process of acceptance and endurance because it's there, you can see it. You can stop living in delusion, as if reconciliation was possible. The day you dread, the day when "he" becomes "him" and references to "you" die out like a Dodo. The day of reflection, the day you seek some type of understanding, explanation, but there isn't one. You no longer feel connected with that person that you used to pour your heart to daily, it's gone, losing that emotional connection would put a strain on anyone.

Hasn't been the first, but it may certainly be the last.

Toxic Whore

I'm a lost motherfucker. I keep looking for some type of purpose but the passion ceases when the brain decides it's time to act. My mind and heart are as disharmonious as it can be and though I seek a union between the two, I can not manage such a thing. Aimless in my passion, I have no one to truly subject it to and for the first time in a while, I feel painfully empty. I remember this feeling two years ago, it was a lot more brutal then, but in its own unique way, it hurts more because my prey continuously teases me, allowing me to seep into the comfort zone only to be immediately expelled when I show the first sign of remission.

I write because it usually helps me paint a clear picture of things, a map of text to my subconscious but it hasn't impressed me at all. I've been disoriented, fully exploiting the state of intoxication to...escape.

I don't talk because nobody listens. nobody listens because I don't bother to explain. I don't bother explaining because nobody...understands. Nobody gets me, I'm just a fucking project. Something to look at, something to awe at, but it doesn't do anything for me.

The little things blind love can hide...ehhh?

Cheers

I've always attempt to mend and reconcile when there is little to no hope. You would think after all the experience I've had with failing relationships, I would know what to do. I do, in truth, I just never prevent it. I try to explain the reasoning for my actions and they're usually misunderstood or simply unwarranted.

I'm talking about this woman I know. I've blogged about her before, and she happens to visit my blog, but I doubt she knows I'm talking about her. I'm pretty ambiguous when I need to be, and since I don't want to bother her anymore and seem like a weirdo stalker, I figured I would alleviate some of the stress on here.

I can call her my friend, but she's much more than that. She isn't my lady, but I would worry about her as if she was. It was my way of showing her that I did care about her, even when I couldn't hang out with her, smoke with her, just be myself with her...no. Our communication primarily involved text messaging and direct messaging, occasionally if more wanted to be said there was an email. Phone conversations were rare and video chat almost non existent. Our friendship was solely solidified through text.

A first, I honestly didn't expect too much out of her. She was pretty, now she's beautiful, but then she was pretty, just another female. Our conversation changed that and the roles reversed...I was more ensnared with her than she was with me...and I didn't want her to leave. She was the type of woman I wanted in my life for a while now, a woman I was mentally in sync with. That is her. She's such a treasure to me, I treat her more like a prize than an actual human sometimes, and through that thinking I may have fucked up our friendship.

I rarely initiate communication with her first, not because I don't miss her, nor want to talk to her (obviously I do, I'm blogging about her), but because I simply didn't want her to get bored of me, to get bored of us, because I didn't want her out of my life like that. I could part with essentially every female in the world and wouldn't even torment myself over it. She's not every female. She's...her. I miss her. The pedestal I put her on is unlike any other. Haaaa.

Funny. I got that from her.

Eve (Appropriately Titled)

It's not a dope feeling seeing you. The long hair I'll never get to grasp, your love which is desired by many and allowed to only a small few. The love I currently ache for, the love that was so sick and twisted...formed into something quite beautiful. The elite group, let's say.

Being a part of that group was a 50/50 thing. Eve had terrible insecurities, which made Eve a demi-psycho at the very least. Eve, for all she cared, wanted my love and sought everything in her power to make sure only I displayed her affection. Eve hated every woman that knew me. I was constantly getting harassed by Eve about several flirtatious tweets on Twitter, old ladies at the grocery store, anything FEMALE I encountered, Eve wanted eliminated. In my world, Eve worked very hard to sculpt a statue in her glory for me to worship. Eve was extremely insecure.

I'm very insecure myself, but Eve took it beyond the cute jealousy. I never inquired on anything Eve did, and when I did, Eve would flip the situation in her favor. Eve became obsessed with seeing me "cheat" that her methods and consequences and that she instilled became more and more absurd. Finally, Eve just began to threaten the relationship to obtain her demands.

Eve knew how to manipulate me. Aggravate me, which in turn would cause me to "blow up" and later try to reconcile and give in to what she wanted. She wasn't Asia, but both women had a nasty trait of being "detectives". I love Eve so much though, Eve fucking looooooooves me. Eve is always calling me, always worried about me, and wanted to be the most perfect woman to me. Perfection and insecurities don't mix.

I'm not the only failed relationship Eve has had, and I highly doubt I'm the last. Emotional trauma tends to stick with you, for life, and for the second time, I got caught up with a chick who is too insecure for her own good. She got caught up with a gentleman who is too angry for his own good.