you light the match, i'll stick around

thirty minutes of thoughts and wit down the drain. i can only hope you at least read them and were inspired before you crushed me. you stole my words and my analogies; i can never be repeated. my originality is dead and this is all just faded and jaded. im left trying to create, recreate, a masterpiece. no one wants the counterfeit, they only want the originial. i'm violated, exposed, and left to die alone amongst forgotten and discarded past objects. i couldn't be more humiliated. for once i was proud, happy, overjoyed with the thought of a goal well accomplished--words that described in a tone different from usual. thought outside the box only to be put back in my place.
i had no idea a crumpled napkin could mean so much. inspire so fully. produce so much hostility.

its fueled by the caffine.

on a completely unrelated note..

my heart is racing faster and faster and i dont know why. i remember two 'last night's like its painted on the insides of my eyelids. rain, kiss, tears, mornings, hugs and laughter. reality. wind, music, lotion, scents, sheets, and words. pixelated. two years ago i never knew i would have another last night. i didn't know it'd come again. i fall from laughter, smiles, exuberance down to nervousness, shaking, racing in a matter of second. i go from 60 to 0 in moments. i boast more urgency than a 160 horse power engine and the pedal to the floor. i feed off the emotions of people around me so intently sometimes i wonder if maybe i don't have my own. i could simply be a good idea; i could exist on a whim or a disappointment.

i can't tell what im more scared of: a repeat of two years ago (see also: broken-hearted) or the exact opposite. doubt is never a reality unless there is passion involved. i've never been more full of doubt.