If Honesty Was Worth All They Said it Was

I suppose the title is enough to give you an idea of all I'll say. Lately I find it hard to see that being so "true" to oneself really gives anything or helps relieve the soul. I suppose that I personally take the 'heartfelt' way of going about blogging, or on some posts I'm just upset. Here I'll say I'm in more of a sober mood.

I didn't have some grand, eye opening, angels-singing-from-the-heavens moment. It just, and I may hate typing this later, feels like I've accomplished nothing by being so honest, nor trying to write stuff that really entertains. I really am not feeling the love, and that has nothing to do with blogging.*

Trying to be honest for all it's worth here, I just don't see the point in writing with blood from the heart as if it is ink in a bottle, and I believe I do it a lot. Maybe not as much as some of you out there, should you ever read this or not. I commonly only do one (1) post on whatever we are supposed to do, and the rest is the Ama stories. I can't tell you if they are any good really. I'm not going to compile and publish them, and sure as hell will not stop. For all they are worth, I will continue it for myself, as it is the untold story I'd love to know more about.

Trying to keep this short, but while I'm on honesty I'd like to say I think some of us can execute whatever they want beautifully, others maybe not so much. I only have several blogs I stalk (sorry Sun if that was weird. . .). There are several more I've checked out because they had been linked on the stalked sites, but that means there is about another 55 blogs to see. And I don't know who they are, or if they are good, or what they enjoy, but at least they continue on without my support being there.*As far as my support goes, I have my heart and soul, but I can't say I like them. Better than nothing.

Here's to trying to be Honest

i Could always Change it, Ya know?

Suddenly I wish I did the song The Past, the Love, the Memories from A Skylit Drive. It's around the fifteenth song down in my playlist. I wish I did it over Dead Ships, but I could change it. I won't. Check out the new music, guys. And leave a comment saying what you want! And read older posts! Enjoy this site; I made this for you. (No Julian Smith, unless you want it to be.) 

Where the Dead Ships Dwell. . . And Me on the Ship

Where the Dead Ships Dwell - In Flames (lyrics)

-The picture slowly fades
Walls are closing in
And there I was, cursing the ground
Unable to understand
-I won't let the world break me
So I need to change direction
Nothing special and far from perfect
Light the way for me
-Feel I was running an endless mile
Last time it burns
And I'm dying inside
All of this will turn to ash
A change for a piece of mind
-Walking where the dead ships dwell
These are shores I left behind
Streets were getting smaller
And I have to leave
-Feel I was running an endless mile
Last time it burns
And I'm dying inside
All of this will turn to ash
A change for a piece of mind
-All I hear is noise
Heart so false
So guess I took it for granted
I know I went too far
I won't say I'm sorry
I got what I deserved
I got what I deserved
-Feel I was running an endless mile
Last time it burns
And I'm dying inside
All of this will turn to ash
A change for a piece of mind
-Feel I was running an endless mile
Last time it burns
And I'm dying inside
All of this will turn to ash
A change for a piece of mind

((In case there is some copyright infringement or whatever, I DO NOT OWN THIS SONG!!! All rights and stuff goes to In Flames and the record company, producers, etc. Whoever made this song.))

Beside this song being uber catchy to me, I feel like I relate. Everything I do seems to go on forever, and the joy just gets sucked out. Dying inside and burning down until there is nothing but the molten core of negativity standing, and a void, cold, lifeless husk of what was me; the shell called my body will harbor this.
Anyone care to hop aboard and save me? Or let's save the ship and be pirates. And if we are pirates, I'm taking down the copyright crap. Because we're pirates! And you can find this song midway down the playlist to the right. . .

Well, the site said to write about what our hearts feel... this is mine.

Pariah - Serianna.
If you find the lyrics, you may begin to see how I feel. . . which is off on how I usually am.
Well, if I'm supposed to write about what my heart feels, no sense holding back. On the other hand, who the heck are you people? I know some of you pretty closely, others enough to know they don't give a buck nor a dollar about me, or my thoughts. But enough about you. I do and don't care about you. It's confusing how it works simultaneously, and it does work simultaneously. Point is that I understand why I can hold back.
Let's start with something recent.

Look familiar? It would if you would read my older posts. DO  IT! I read your older posts; read mine. Compare then and now. It's what I'm doing a lot of lately. If you don't understand the context of what I'm about to write, whatever. You figure it out! I don't need to hold your hand through my thoughts.
I got back in contact. We've been. . . talking. Reminiscing on our good times. Bad times? Not so much. Why do I bring this up? It's been on my heart for years. Literally, years. And I have left room open there, but no one is on my level.

Let's talk about my level. I'm the open dreamer. Yeah, you're a dreamer. A lot of people argue they are dreamers. But I openly share and pursue mine, and have been for the past decade. So, by that standard, you are probably on a different level. And now relationships. Not the lovey dovey crap I could care less about. Parents, family, friends. I'm loyal, even to a fault. How people think that lying to anyone for personal gain is fun or cool or good or worth it is less than what they could be. Duh! So what? Why should I care? Because, like I said, I'm loyal to the fault where I will fight against the lie.

That just crawls under my skin. And then I have friends who do the same. Crawling under my skin. Lately I've felt some insane things that I won't really share or go into detail about, but when I try to get some help from a friend and they never respond to a text or pick up the phone, and seem to live on a level where something I could deem very trivial is everything to them, it starts to drive rusted nails through soul and life. How can I trust you if you won't take me seriously?

Suck it up. . . Grrrrrr! I just wanna go off, like a time bomb that has been ticking ferociously for too long. I want to go nuclear, and let what I've held back out, and make it devastating. Burn not only bridges, but bodies. The idea of just retaliating is so tempting. To crush some smug punk's face in, or to shatter some irritating  brat girls legs is just something that leaves a chilling and dark feeling. Here's the worst part. It feels good to think about. . . somewhere I'm cracking.

My level is to be true, not only to myself, but to others. My level is to be withdrawn to avoid damage. My level is to be contained lest I can't control myself, and do something I may ultimately regret. My level is to pursue the dream through infinity. Enough about my level.

Sometimes I question things to death. I don't know why, but that's something I do when I don't understand a situation, event, person. Sometimes I feel I should be more connected, and ask questions about something. I feel like I enjoy politics, but don't care about them enough to pursue. Some things don't make sense to me, and leave me apathetic. Apathy leaves me feeling guilt, and guilt makes me want to pin the source on some whatever.

I've been going on for a long time. I could write a book about everything I think. I beat around the bush a lot. Whether my plan is to be more direct or not is still a good question. If this was a live conversation, I had a pretty big pause there. I think I'm gonna get myself killed somewhere. I-- eh. Geez, I dunno what I want to get across. I'm uncertain what I want to say. I'm not suicidal; let's clear that up right now. Just. . . *sigh*.

My heart is full

P.S. I wish I could make this shorter. Short wouldn't explain my heart.

New Music!

I finally posted new music. Finally. Check it out, and, like always, please tell me who you'd like to listen to when you're here.

What I've Seen. . .

"Are you alright?" A voice asked. I didn't know who it was. Such an obvious observation, but just after seeing myself, and then falling back into some man's chest left me alert and defensive inside.
"I'm fine," I turn around and look at the man who stopped my fall. He was tall, at least a foot and a quarter taller than I. He had a beard that went down to his collar, that was surprisingly dark blue. And his eyes had a slight glow; amber-like eyes that glowed softly. And his skin was dark. Very dark. No, wait. . . was it. . . purple?!
"I'm just tired, that's all."
"Well, let me help you with that mirror then."

I wasn't sure who, or what, he was. I really didn't see anything other than myself and some people bumbling around in some strange building. Still, I was struggling with the mirror, and quite honestly he could probably handle it better than I. "Alright, here you go." I handed the mirror over to him, and I was right about the purple-like skin and the ability to easily handle the mirror. He turned his head to the left, looking down the path I was headed on. He had elf ears. Long and pointed, with the same dark blue hair that went down to his shoulders. He must be a Dark Elf or something like that.

"So stranger, what's your name?" I asked. He didn't look at me, just followed while looking ahead.
"Wrael." He replied. I was expecting some super long and tongue-twisting name. I won't complain to know someone with a short name. I really was tired. My thoughts made no sense. Why in the world would I care to observe someone's name?
"What are you?" I ask bluntly. He looks at me with a puzzled look.
"You don't know what I am? How could you not know?" He was now even looking more puzzled, his eyes scanning me. I just looked at him, telling him with my gaze to answer the question.
"A Night Elf," he tells me, "haven't you ever met one?"
"No." I wasn't sure what I would tell him. The question never came. He never asked how I didn't know what one was.

The rest of the walk was in silence. I would glance at him occasionally, but he never seemed to look at me. I honestly didn't care. I just met him on the street, and he offered to help carry a mirror. When we arrived at the inn, I took the mirror and thanked him. We parted, and I went to my room. I put the mirror up above the table like I had planned. It looked good. While the surroundings seemed pretty bland, this contrast of elegant and ornate beauty on the wall seemed to make it work somehow. Somehow.

I sat at the table and stared into the mirror for a long time. The candles on the table began to flicker. My eyelids began to droop. The air went cold and still. The edges of the mirror started to frost over, slow creeping towards the center. My eyes opened enough to see that it surrounded where my face was. In the frost I saw a face. Someone I recognized all to well, but I could not put a name to the face for the life of me. And my life it was.

I wanted to jump to my feet and put my dagger to its throat, but I was paralyzed completely. The image faded, and I fell back off my chair, and darkness consumed my vision. I then saw it all over again.

I held in my hand a sword. A relic, a legendary item of immense powers. The two figures in front of me were still shrouded in black, and I couldn't make them out at all. But one approached me, and swiftly. I dodged a swing from what might be a scythe, but before I could react, it pivoted over itself, and planted itself in front of me. A foot connected with my stomach, and I was launched backwards. 

I reached desperately as I fell off the edge. But it was no use. I fell, and this time I saw it all. Every last second of it. I smashed onto rocks, bones snapping and cracking. I had no control. The armor I wore ripped and tore, flying off into the infinite mist that surrounded me. My skin was no longer protected, and the bullets of water stung as it struck me. Everything happened so fast. I hit rock after rock, jagged, and bloodied by me. And then came the final stop. I wouldn't bounce off and fall ever into the infinite descent. No, I would just hit, and whatever's left would be beyond dead.

I shot awake, my stomach heaving. I wept and trembled. I felt so alone, and only my reflection was here. What did I just see. I spat into the garbage can, quaking, feeling so numb and afraid. I curled upon my bed. I wish I had someone here right now. Even that elf. Wrael. I eventually fell asleep, unable to cry or throw up anymore. I guess I really did die. I guess I really am dead. "I'm not dead. I'm not dead. . ."

Dead.

*beep* *beep* *beep*
Heart monitors.
They don't stop.
The lack of silence, this incessant beeping is irritating.
In the bed, suffering never ceases.
But is this physical?
It could be more emotional, but this is just a hunch.
It is a heart monitor, and it never stops beeping,
but only because it hasn't stopped beating. . .
yet.

It's always another pretty face to get yourself hooked on, I suppose.
Hooked up to it like the IVs that pump chemicals through the veins,
and they become the only way to live.
Maybe when you're outside, you are finally off,
but there you go again! Shooting up something painful.
This is where your heart stops.
Don't keep it in, but so hard to let go.

Now you are here, and now I'm here. I assume this isn't your first time here.
No, this ICU is special.
Only those who have been in this condition too many times come here.
*beep* *beep* *beep*
Only a matter of time.
You might have a few more months, or if you are lucky, you will come back later.
Much later, hopefully.


But when it feels alright, they walk in.
Hand in hand, the damned slowly approach us.
Death himself, and his lifeless stare.
So hollow, cold, eerie.
And there is the person who gave the heart an attack,
an ache so deep and passionate and painful.
"I've come to claim what is mine."

And Death unhooks all the machines and wires,
and with his scythe, cuts your chest open.
The other then reaches in.
Agonizing, traumatizing, and forgettable.
*Silence* *silence* *silence* *silence*
The heart is ripped out.
Unplugged, and they walk away.
With Death lies your body, and she holds the heart,
still warm and pumping.
And the spirit watches helplessly, hopelessly
and everything is gone forever. . .