stream of consciousness; 12:08am march 3rd.

i’m in the mood to just sit on my floor and stare at the ceiling and let sad acoustic music take me to somewhere else; anywhere but my present state because i’m going mad. i want to light candles and just zone out but i’m still here and more than anything i want to be somewhere else but i do want here at the same time because i love you. and i hate writing because my mind is so blank but so full of everything at the same time and i’m so indecisive and i want to grow two hundred feet tall and destroy the world but only parts of it because there are gorgeous parts that are too beautiful to destroy. instead, i’ll be that ugly giant who just sits around and plays with the wonders of the world as little toys- and you’re each my dolls but i’ll be lonely because i’ll be the only giant and still.. none of this confusion or madness will disappear.. i’ll still be here in this now, thinking and thinking until my brain literally explodes.. and the entire world will be covered in exploded giant brain. please, play the cure at my funeral.

i look back at myself and realize i wasn’t the person i was yesterday. my values have changed and maybe i’ve turned the complications into simplicity. nothing matters except beauty. 
if i want to be honest and i wanted you to really know me, i’d tell you listen to the ramblings of robert smith.. 
listening to a letter to elise is like falling in love over and over again.
inspiration like no other, faded frosted green, damp, cold..
like late night drives along empty sideroads, little light on the road, but my hand in your hand and i feel beautiful. or a shine of moonlight on the autumn air, a change of scenery but no feeling change.
tingling sensations through my body, and an overall feeling of happiness- i am content. 
i can see my breath in the air and my fingertips are slowly freezing to the point where everything i touch is numb. harsh, but smooth and simple. complaining about weather conditions and how the appearance of the sky is in sync with my mood, that’s real. 
you could never know me though. i haven’t lived enough to know me. 
for now, i’m simply a letter to elise played on repeat until life feels fiery warm, like magic. 

In English, we had to write a letter to a person in jail.
Here’s mine.

’ I’ve hesitated writing to you because I have no clue what to say. I’m going to tell you about me. I am a very confused human being. I’m sure you can relate. I’ll be honest, I was born into a good home. I’m close with my family and we’ve stayed together after all these years. I’ve moved here and there. I’ve made friends and lost them. I’ve lived and learned as much as you can when you’re only seventeen. I’ve never gotten into drugs, despite about three quarters of this town has. I believe the world is far too beautiful to be clouded off with reality altering intoxication. I can be calm and quiet, but also bubbly and loud. I enjoy being on my own, and I’m picky with whom I surround myself with. My name’s Christie and my whole life, I’ve been called Christine, Christina or Christa by strangers who mispronounce my name after a quick glance. So, I took that base and made it into an outside identity. To few, I am the real me. Perhaps, when the weather is nice, I’m realer to more people than usual. But, like I said, I’m picky with people. I believe anyone who isn’t worth my time doesn’t deserve to really see me. And, as hard as it is to be these two people, I’ve realized it has now swallowed and absorbed me. And now, i’m simply an anxiety ridden girl who is quite honestly confused.

Daily, I hear the same old sayings. “Go to school – Do something with your life – Get a good paying job so you’ll be happy!” I guess it comes down to the fact, that while dealing with the confusion of Christie versus Christa, I’m dealing with the confusion of having a future. I don’t plan out my days. I don’t like thinking about any farther ahead than tomorrow or maybe the weekend. I’ve stopped going to school and I haven’t really figured out why. It’s funny because, this once entirely optimistic girl has transformed into this self-excluded social recluse; refusing to wake up in the morning to attend the hell that is high school. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like people make fun of me or anything. I’m simply me. I’m my own person, and if anything, it scares people. I’ve gotten tired of trying to explain myself to kids who won’t get it. So, I keep quiet. I’d rather be at home drawing, writing and dreaming; filling my world with inspiration and art than the strict black and white of going to school.

Some adults understand. I get the speech from teachers about coming to class and doing my work. It’s straight in one ear and out the other. I’m an artistic girl and despite what society believes is right, I’d rather be a happy social recluse without a defined future at seventeen, than an unhappy well payed adult, living a life that was forced on her. It’s funny, because you’re in jail and the life you had has been shut out by concrete walls and bars. I know the feeling. The feeling of almost missing freedom.

I’m not really sure where I was going with this, to be honest. Perhaps, you understand what I’m feeling. Or maybe not. Maybe you are angry that I have this life that appears like I’m throwing it away. But, the thing is, I’m happy. Happily confused, I must admit. But in some twisted way, it almost feels right. ‘

Meaningless words fill my head. I am a collage of where, why and how. I am in a very dark room. There is no door in nor out and I’m not sure how I ended up here. It’s as simple as that. My eyes squint and adjust to the little light in the room. There are stairs and a window. The rod-iron stairs twist and curl; spiraling into the sealed ceiling. From the fogged over street light outside, I can make out the glowing of the spider webs; wrapped around each stair in the most knotted and complicated way. The streetlight reflects onto the webs and I stare at the home of the spiders I cannot see. I resist stepping closer to get a better glimpse of the oddly beautiful webs. I think there is a tree outside, but the rain is free-falling gorgeously. I’m not sure if it’s simply the rain making the rumbling outside, or the leaves swaying in the wind. I hear a screech in the sky and illuminating light flies through the window. Rain falls hard against the window, my ears are filled with the pounding thud of angry rain drops hitting the glass. My mind tries to focus. But I squeeze my eyes shut before my mind starts playing tricks on me. There are no eery shadows outside. I am alone. The only footsteps I hear are my own. The steps I hear are in sync with my heart beating. One deep breath and I continue scanning the room. There are candles in each corner, burning away incandescently. They outline the barriers of the room and fear sets in when I realize that the walls are much closer together than they original appeared to be. In the middle of the room, atop the cold marble floor is a bouquet of month old roses, and with each rush of the wind passing through, it quivers against the dead plant, and tiny pieces of baby’s breath and rose petals flutter to the floor. They bleed against the dripping window. I can’t help but marvel at the beauty of watching the colours swirl around the floor while the thunder rages outside. It’s almost as if the sky is angry that the colours are infusing together into one. I curl up underneath the window while the electrifying lightning brilliantly kisses my skin. Cool rain drops drip down my neck getting stuck in the crease by my collarbone. I do not dare to wipe them away. My body feels peacefully in tune with nature and for once, I feel beauty in the most raw way.

[click the photo to my more used blog]

my mind is a terrible mess of
awkward words
and they can’t come out of me when i need them to.
flash forward to worrying about my future and
i’m screwed.
i will have no education.
i will just live poorly;
writing useless fragments of a lost story-
a story without an ending.
the fear of the future brings me back.
it intoxicates my mind, clouding over into an infinite
whole
of lost words and forgotten times.
i’m walking on nothing.
my feet step forward but i’m wandering around
the same place
never moving
forward
or
back.
i’m contorted and lost in this wilderness of life.
i’m photographs of skewed colours.
i’m a lock that has lost it’s key.
i’m on my own, with no future.
i want to be able to help the world.
i want to be able to spread art across the universe,
coating the world in soft colour.
i want to be able to paint the world.
the only direction i had has been
crushed by trees of fallen dreams.
as overused and terrible as it sounds,
i
am
so
lost.