this is a phantom post

one intended to be deleted just a way to see the words that twinkle just out of focus

I have, had, 100s of these. I call them roadblocks. ideas. not good enough, or I am not good enough more aptly, to hear the voice of, just whispers. sometimes I vent and say the hidden things. not many of those left. mostly the dark tidings of how I am not good enough, funny enough, charming enough, human enough, worthy of anything but the swill

in three months on here I have posted roughly 90 times at this point. 90. it is ridiculous. I often wonder what the goal is of reading all of my personal therapy diary entries.

do you get an insight into who I am? does the sociopathic nature passthrough or does it blend? You, dear reader, are a hodge podge of five people in my head that I am addressing. Of course you are part of that stew, the important part. I am begging you, one aspect or another, for help. or understanding. 

It is funny because it is so very much sad. trapped with the ghosts of very important people that form a part of who I am, or strive to be. people that have seen me at the fucking bottom, or at my best. And I miss you badly. Like a slice of my soul is gone. I can feel the tear, see the tattered wisps. And I am too proud or stupid or weak or strong or fucking disappointing to actually reach out

So I do it here. And I know it is empty. I know it. this look into my actual thoughts and longings

I hate how well you are getting to know me. 

Hate being honest. Hate when I read my fiction and see the parts of me so obviously on display. 

look at me when I am the clown. that is acceptable. I have my mask down and the hurt little bitch is locked up in his cell. shut it or I will get mommy. we both know where this goes you fucking pig

look me in the fucking eyes when you think you have spine enough to, if you are feeling froggy then I recommend you fucking well jump

I hate that I seem like a whiny cunt all the time, woe is me no one loves me. I am not that twat. I am. but those are moments of pure, intensity and truth. most of the time I want to laugh or not have this goddamned headache 4 of 7 days a week

So fuck me for wanting to share laughter and words with. 

I see your judging eyes. weigh my heart against a feather, oh Anubis. I double jackal dare you. 

A valkyrie will come for my soul on the day I pass from Midgard. I shall go to the hall and hoist mead with the heroes until glorious Ragnarock

Elysium Fields. I will seek Persephone out just for the chance of sneaking a kiss behind Hades back. Pomegranate kisses.

A nice cushy mid level executive job in Hell. Sure the paperwork never ends but at least the coffee sucks! *cue laugh track and theme music*

I guess this is as inner working as a guy can get. 

gonna fucking hit publish I guess

to you, dear reader, I am sorry. for not being there for you even when you made it clear you didn’t want me to be. I felt I should fight more but I don’t have the right. it could have been something. another life perhaps. 

I love each and every single one of you. whether we know each other that well or not. you are fucking awe inspiring and anyone in your life that does not see that is not worth your effort.

I told someone how great they were and they said I was too. 

My response was exactly how I feel, my greatness compared to hers was the moon reflecting the sun, a pale comparison. 

It was true then. It is true now. 

find the person who not only feels that way about you, but makes you feel that way about them. that is a fucking keeper my friends. 

My issue is I steal others shine but have none of my own. I am a reflection of my environment. eventually the person gets tired of shining alone and seeks a proper fit.

you shine like a million suns, I love you

sloppy wet kisses, maybe light groping

Creep by Stone Temple Pilots if you want to know exactly where I am

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