Scream it to the Nothingness
about me
"Don’t let people treat you like a cigarette, they only use you when they’re bored and step on you when they’re done. Be like drugs, let them die for you."
Worth more and harder to get your hands on (via lepetitchatblanc)

(Source: ohfuckitsbarbie, via naked-fame)

Insomnia ramblings

Trapped in my mind,
My thoughts tangent into a place unknown,
The awareness of struggle, of sadness, is overwhelming
But on I go.
Into the world with patience in my smile and you in mind.
Do my eyes reveal the truth behind them,
Who believes this facade?
I do. Everyday is a new adventure. A new conversation.
New ears to listen to problems in the world which are as irrelevant now as they will be ten years on. But this is my job, is it not? To listen. To advise. To care. To battle. To conquer. To leave a legacy.
I go on until my bones run weak and my eyes heavy. Then I rest.
I awake to the sound of the world beyond my window. People speaking, people living. I can close my eyes and switch of again but the world continues, and on we go.
To be awake is to live, to sleep is to dream, to die is life.
We are born and every day we get closer to death. Death has the impression of sadness, grief, loss. But how strange that we grieve the dead, should we not grieve the living. The living who do not know greater then that of themselves. Who do not know beyond the routine of coffee, promotions and post-Christmas sales. Who do not feel loved. What is living if we live to abide to that which society lays out for us; born, education, marriage, promotion, kids, promotion, grandchildren, death. All that comes between is what we make it, travel, smiles, relationships, barriers.
Writing to achieve what. A peace of mind? No. Writing to be heard. A human could be confused to hear this babble, this drool of thoughts which are never ending.
I have all the time it seems so instead of keeping it locked away I will put nice sounding words together which may make sense to someone who will read it, but who and when will that be?
Do I write a song, a poem, draw a painting. How do I express myself without being told I am crazy or not engaging. Who listens? By listening I do not mean they digest words and then say something which the person believes to be relevant. I mean the listening which sinks into their stomach, hits a nerve in their brain and they want to get up, go, live. He listens, always.
I will read this back one day and none of it will make sense, it is just another on going evening where loneliness strikes once again. The hole in my heart does seem so filled, I find joy and peace in that. But now there is a hole in my brain due to lack of real communication; there is a barrier in this place I live which I have not made enough effort to overcome. I ask these questions which do not mean a thing but at the same time they mean everything.
I have a fire in me, a passion to do everything, to see the world and meet every person physically possible. I want to know people. When I say know people I am referring to understanding them, discerning them… believing in them.

- RB