Rituals.

How do you deal with those thoughts that tell you you've been left behind? How do you tell the difference between not talking and not talking to you? How many message can you send someone to see if they're talking to you before they get so annoyed that they're no longer talking to you? How do you get people to tell you the things you're doing wrong, to point out your flaws? How do we change the things that need to be changed, if no one will tell us? How do we know where we are failing if there is no longer a system of rules? Is this comment too rude? Is that request too pushy? How do you find out if you're annoying without being annoying by asking if you're annoying? How do you silence these questions that echo through every space in your mind? Every twisting memory and moment curling in your mind like a boiling pot, and if you get too close, you're going to get burned. How do you live when your own mind is on fire? When your thoughts are scald...

What is this world doing to me? Oh how it drags me down. That myth our parents tell us, of how we can be anything . The universe seems to have different ideas. But I've brought this on myself, haven't I? My failures and my mistakes and all those bridges I've burned. All those damn bridges. And no one to tell me why. Why do I stay? There's so much agony in it. These days, agony is all I feel.

I don't know what happened to that need I had. To tell the world everything that was in me. There's an irony in even making that statement. I think it was hope. I seem full of that these days, and it always comes back to bite me. Sometimes it doesn't seem like I am hoping for something to happen but begging for it instead. Please come through for me. Please work. Please be. Please, reason, come forth and find me. So I will know you are there. And after I send those words out into the universe, I feel broken and empty. Like it was all I had to give to the world. Like it was all I had in me. And then I must wait for the well to refill, not knowing why I wait, why I keep going. I never know why I keep going. How can I? I don't even know where I'm going. Where am I going? Everything I get from everyone I speak to is just a portion of what I need. This from those, that from them. Everything broken up into tiny, small, barely-enough-to-keep-me-going...