Soul churning Sunday

Rock'n'roll. Seven years from high school and I am still my own favorite band. I'm still within crashing cars always a step before death. Always with drunk drivers laughing wildly out the window in comatose nights; In the company of stoned girls which smile and gesture like wild angels that came to slaughter our confidence. To poke holes in our eyes and leave us stunned and dreaming in their joyful embrace.

I'm stuck in a neverending adolescence. Writing, drinking, smoking. Doing my best to earn the smallest gesture of affection. Because I'm fucking dying. I'm starving for it. I'm running around like mad dog within the enclaves of the city. There are nights when i feel the cold hand gripping my shoulder, sinking its nails into my skin. Remorse, desire. all as shadows climbing the buildings once the last rays of light are asleep.
And a sense of pain. One that burns with the strenght of one thousand suns. Of countless bancontes thrown into the fire.
Within it, My soul is bouquet of dynamite waiting for the fuse to burn what I know of this world to an end. I'm waiting for a silent psychosis for some time now. One day i'll be in a nuthouse gathering roses for the nurses because even in my madest hours I am sentimental and crushed by happiness I see lacking in others. Reflecting my own emptiness.
I am toy stigmata in a way. Always Carrying the cross of my gender. Of My character. All molded and burnt by irresponsible parenting and aeons of dilligent loneliness. What I am is a little more than a barrel of gasoline. An ancient little soul contained in hard metallic bounds.
I just want to see the light one more time before I disappear as suddenly as I came around. I want to dwell in still waters. Away from nonsensical danger and hunger. I want to wake up in the morning one day, numb in my joy, without ever thinking of nights spent on dawn's highways. I want solace. I'm trying to gravitate towards it. Away from cold and meaningless drives towards nowhere. Always the same god damned destination. And I'm aware that it's my fault. That everything; my misery, my despair, my selfishness, my blindness, my inability to love a girl in the manner she wants me to. Everything is carved on me like countless tattoos that keep people away from me. From all the things I ever wanted to offer and never had chance to. THat or were just plainly taken without a word.

I am shy and my life is my greatest art. It's a sad painting from which colour drips each day. Sometimes slower, sometimes faster. This is another battle lost. Another butterfly released. But I remain here. Silent and subdued. A god on paper. Creating beautiful memories that will die out in the mist of somebody's unmet expectations. And yet I go on like that through life. Void of hope, smiling, like a child that still loves the father that abandoned him.