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Losing sight of what I am.

Falling into holes,

Stopping on the road of life.



Dreaming of what I'll never have.

Reading all about what isn't going on.



Stories,

Fake words written on the screen.

Yet I get caught up.

Connected.

Lost.



I don't know what the fuck it is.

What the hell is wrong with me...?

I become a part of them,

The fantasies.



It’s not about the location,

It’s not about the sex,

It’s about the people.

What I wish I could have.

But know that I don’t.



It happens every now and then,

I lose sight of who I am.

I get caught up.

And I get filled with emotions.



I don't know what the fuck it is.

How I get so attracted.

How my feelings get twisted around.



I wish I had what they had,

The friends,

People that cared,

I think I don't.

And I’m not to sure I do.



There not bad,

And there the best I ever had.

But I don't know what I want.

And those are fantasy,

And it’s why I wish I had 'em.

Doesn’t everyone?



I'm losing sight of who I am.

My identity blurred in the stories.

The love,

Hate,

Guys,

People.

The dreams,

And I want them more then ever...



Yet a week later I forget.

I become my old self,

Happy once more with what I have.



Yet I go back,

And read another,

And it fucks it all over.



I don't know how to explain.

Addiction?

Addicted to tormenting myself?



For now I don't know.

It comes right out of my heart.

I don't know what the next line will say,

Yet my fingers still type away.



I can't explain what is wrong.

I don't fucking know...

Yet I want to be them.

Everything.

I want to be like that.

A fantasy.

The writer’s fantasy.

The dream.

Everyone’s dream.



Even if it is in my own twisted way.

I don't understand...

How I get so attached.

To something so short.

My caring and annoyance.

Feelings I can't name.

But I feel upset.

Tired.

Angry.

And it’s all because of a damn story.

How the hell is that possible?



Can anyone explain it?

Am I screwed up?

Or is it because I’m just me?

A crazy kid.

Lost in mind,

Sprit.

Body.



Yet a soul...

Do I have one?

Hidden away in this rambling of emotions.

Mixed in with everything else.

Do I even exist?



Becoming the "Will" for some of my friends.

How the fuck can you call yourself one.

Fighting over whom the hell wants to be "Grace."

What the hell is wrong with you?

What kind of friends are you?

Fighting over me like that...



Why does it happen?

Why can't I answer my own questions?

I'm losing it.

It's still happening.

It doesn’t matter how many people I tell,

It doesn’t help a fucking thing.



I'm spinning around life,

And I don't know what the hell is going on.



I can cry a night away,

And I have no good reason for it.



I can ditch my friends to sit at home alone.

And complain that I’m never asked to do anything.



Is it just me?

Or is everyone this way?

Or is it only because I'm everyone’s cute little fag.

Idolized because its part of a sick twisted fucking game.



Aww, how cute!

How nice it is to have a gay friend.

Every girls fucking dream.



I don't fucking know anymore.

I wonder what the hell is going on.

How am I so fucking angry?

How do I hide this from myself?

From all of you?

Yet.



Yet it’s funny...

Am I insane?

Destined to be in therapy because I’m a fucked up teen.

Because everyone fucks me over in their own way.

How the hell can I be mad at a world,

And I don't even know what the fuck is going on...



I tell myself to calm down.

I don't even know why I’m so mad.

I don't know if it’s really you.

It’s really just me.

The fucked up gay teen...

I don't know.

I never fucking do.



How did they all find out?

Why did I bother to tell?

It happened to fast.

Too much.

Too soon.

Selfish.

It’s the only reason.

I wanted to feel happy.

And thought that would do it.

But it postponed the inevitable.



My own happiness is lost,

Because I’m too pathetic to find it.



I'm to fucking angry at life.

The world.

Myself.



And there’s nothing fucking left to do.

Either I end it all.

Or suck it up and admit the defeat.

I lost at my own game.



I lost to myself.

I cheated through life,

And now I’m paying for it.



The tormented soul.

The battered truth.



I've done it all to myself.

And I blame everyone else.



If only they knew,

I'd be happy...

If only I liked myself,

I'd be happy...

If only I was this person,

I'd be happy...

If only I brought the most expensive clothes,

I'd be happy...

If only my parents were divorced,

I’d be happy…

If people felt sorry for me,

I’d be happy…



None of it fucking works…

I ended up getting everything I fucking asked for.

The spoiled bitch,

And it doesn’t do shit,

Money doesn’t buy happyness.

Nor do friends,

Nor does trying to buy friends.

I shouldn't have to buy shit to keep my friends.

I shouldn't be so fucking jealous that you’re happy.

I should care that the rest don't really do.



I don't fucking know anymore.

But I'm lost in my pool of fucking lies.

And I'm burning away in this hell I made.

I don't fucking know what to do.

And all I ever knew how to do was stay mad at the world,

And hide it from myself.

Hide the anger I have.

Locked inside.



Yet you've seen it...



You...



And you didn't run away...



For that’s what these stories do...

It makes me realize how I fucked myself over.

How I could just done it right form the beginning.



I get attached...

I see myself.

My mistakes.

My hopes.

Fears.

Dreams.

Love.

Him...



Yet I don't have it.

And I never will.

That is all a fantasy.

It’s all fiction.

Yet in my world.

I can’t do anything right.

The shot in the night.

The bullet in the head.



End it all now.

The fantasy is never true...

Is it?



That’s why we live.

Because we all believe someday it can happen.

Those who kill themselves have already found the answer...

It can't.

And they knew it.

They didn't miss anything.

And those that miss them,

Are still living in the fantasy.



Can some things come true...?

I thought they could.

The past few weeks a few did.

Yet I don't know.

I realized I just hid stuff away from myself.

From all of you.

I want to talk so much.

Be heard.

Be me.

Yet I don't know how.

I don't know what to talk about.

I don’t fucking know.

I've lost sight of myself.

The lies.

The hurt.

The fact I'm me...



Being what some have always wanted…

Is it their dream?

It sure as hell seems that way…

The gay friend everyone wanted…

You swore you hate the word fag,

Yet you and your friends throw it around every fucking day.

What do I care?

I am.

So what…

Fuck you…

And everyone that is like you….



Yet I’m lost in this fucking life.

Another tally on the list.

I don’t know.



I thought it was what I should do.

I did what I thought would make me happy.

It was all wrong.

I’m the fuckup.



Is it everyone?

Or just me?



I don't care,

And I don't know.



All I know is life is full of fantasies.

And they don't come true.

Not all.

Not most.

Just some small parts.

It’s what we live for.

And I'm loosing sight.



My cryptic writing,

And strange thoughts.

The will to live is what keeps us going.

Do I have mine?

Do I know what I want to do...?

I just want to talk.

Be heard.

Have people listen.

Care.



Yet I think about it,

And I don't know what to talk about.

What I want.

Who I am.

I'm just lost away in life.

Another fucked up fag,

Another reason why they want us all dead.

Another reason from me to live in the fantasy,

And loose sight of my real life...





Sometimes all I want.

Is to talk.

And be heard.

Yet it happens.

And I have nothing to say...



What does that make me?

Will I ever now what’s wrong with me...

Can you help me?

Or, am i going to have to play lifes fucked up game?