play with fire

he smothers, she rejoices. i take pleasure in the simplicities of the world, the overcompensations, the excess when just barely will cut it.
i excel and strive in the areas where there isn't enough, there can't be enough, you won't get enough. i think because its the in thing to do, not because i want to do it. i grow because i can't help it, not because i look forward to it. i breathe because its a way of life, not because i take joy in it.
i love because i need to. because without it my life is nothing, is an empty shell. whats the use in having feelings if you can't express them? what's the use in having the capacity to love if you don't have someone to?
why complain when you are creating complaints simply for the basis of complaining? why does she insist on falling when there are so many around her urging to get up?


her eyes sparkled, but she doesn't even know, she doesn't even care. she's blind to the perfections of the world and open-eyed to every flaw that ever graced her soul, her existance. she's continually let down by those who promise to let her down, and is taken by surprise one injury at a time. you wonder why her heart is so guarded--she's incapable of opening her eyes.

i hide myself behind jokes and one liners when all they raise is a small flurry of giggles almost to be confused with the sarcastic laughter. my words aren't coming as easily, and its a struggle to string them together into legitiment sentences that in turn string along my real meaning, my desire to communicate what needs to be said, what needs to be free.