Last Year.

I’m shaking all of my nerves off when I’m writing this, and there’s nothing within me but a shattered glass made from different and contrasting emotions, laying in the depth of my heart. Vivid, alive and colorful.

By this time last year I was crafting up the last details on your birthday present, something that seemed effortless because we hadn’t talked in a long while, and would be pointless to give you something on such a special day, but as the hopeless romantic I am, I had to. I kept the promise on giving you something that was quite meaningful for me, and thought for you it was too, but now that I look back, it was just a thing that didn’t mean enough for you, and you already had it. 

I remember having my hands shaking quite a lot because of how nervous I was. Walking the way up to your house, with the blue bag, because blue is one of my favorite colors, laying inside the blue birthday bag was the gift I crafted with all of the feelings I had. I wanted it to be a gift you could treasure, but maybe it wasn’t what I expected it to be with you. 

Usually the things I do for people aren’t what I want them to be. They end up being dusty memories of a past they mostly want to forget rather than treasure. That gift wasn’t the exception, and right now I can’t avoid to let the tears roll down my face, because of all of these memories I’ve kept inside. 

On your birthday you wrote me a letter, and surely I didn’t expect it at all, but when I read it, I tried to decode every single word written in the blue-stripped white paper, something I shouldn’t have done. Because you throw words to the wind so much, so often, and let them hit the people without any wish to put them back on their feet. Maybe we got lost in translation, maybe I asked you too much. And right now, a year after that walk under the hot sun of June, I see things in a whole new perspective, and I feel like I’m being cruel with myself, but the things are better off right now. 

Still that I believe that, I’m not totally sure about it. Because as I’ve seen, I’m not stable with my feelings, and when I’m about to settle with something that I believe strongly in, I tend to change my mind, and regret what I thought was right. 

I hate myself because of this. I hate myself for thinking there is some kind of special link between us, and that you feel it too, and want to get attached to me, and whenever we’re together the random touches you give me are just hidden wishes, and you’d like to keep them longer than what you really do. And that maybe you’d like to hold my hand tight with yours, and maybe when the nights are stormy and cold, and you look through the window and see the rain drops you wish you had me wrapping my arms around you. And that when you’re sitting down somewhere alone you just expect me to come in randomly and unexpected and give you a little kiss on your cheek making you blush. 

But as far as I’m concerned, those thoughts are just my mind playing me to believe someone like you could love me, when the truth is that you’re in love with someone else. 

I’m trying not to fake the smile I’m smiling, but seems like smiling is not a thing I was made for. Really right now I can’t get my mind off of the dream I had a few nights ago, where I truly awoke a desire I thought I’ve killed a long time before. 

As I listen to Sia’s Kill and Run tears went down my face, rolling over my cheeks that had forgotten what tears were like. I hadn’t cried my heart out in a while now, I’ve cried but the reasons where out of my hands and didn’t resemble of any situation I’ve lived in the past stormy months. But the tears that made my eyeballs go fully wet, were born out of the frustration that desire I thought dead awoke in me. 

I usually try to put up the act of the funny, lose, and open-minded guy, when in fact I am not certainly a bit like that. I’m just a close minded boy, living the life that teenagers are supposed to, when indoors I’m just dying inside, and feeling as depressed as my life was a ancient-Greece-a-like-tragedy from the ancient drama writers, but I have no control over what I feel and what I let out. If it was in my hands I would stay indoors writing about how wonderful life is when I’m all alone, and how my constant wish of being dead is fulfilling my ideal kind of life. Cutting is the closest thing I’ve got to ever kill myself, I’ve promised not to kill myself, to my parents, to everyone else, but to myself that is just a thing that if it wasn’t for everyone else expecting me to held the promise I made, I would’ve simply ran the blade deeper than the usual teenager-in-struggle cut alike. 

But even in the darkness of this life I’m living, I feel a tiny spark of what happiness is all about. That spark shining through the deep darkness and the stark of unreal thoughts of purple-violence, is just the thought of I’m still left here to do something that might be big for people. And that in some point will make me see what all of this indescribable weird pain I’m feeling within me is all about. 

I’m looking forward to seeing that day coming down. Meanwhile I’m stuck into this. 

Letter to all.

Dear reader:

I begin this letter with an open mind to everything, and embracing everything life’s granted to me, and accepting it as it comes down to me. Everything’s been hard lately, and the main purpose for this written expression is to channel out most of it, due the fact of my friendless life I live, and how the friends I keep avoid on hearing the problems I create for myself most of the time. It is an open dialog to everyone. Maybe the people this letter is about will never pass their eyes on any of these lines. 

I’m writing because recently letting myself bleed a while after cuts have been done over my thin skin hasn’t been quite enough as always, and the pain I try to bear is consuming me within. Honestly I have no one to go running into, no one’s arms are comforting enough to keep the calm of myself, and no one’s pair of ears really hear me and listen to everything I’ve got to say. Well it was time to feel this filled up that I couldn’t content the pain, and actually it is starting to cause physical symptoms. And the worst part is that I’m clueless of where this constant sadness origins.

I feel lifeless. But still I mechanically do everything a teenager of my age should do, but sincerely I don’t have any true motivation to effectuate the actions I do everyday. Laughing, hugging, talking and supposedly living the YOLO motto. All of those actions I do are rooting of a dead human being that walks because he is supposed to, not because he wants to. 

If I was a mental health patient things would be easier to explain, and maybe it is just a phase I’m going through, but right now at these moment, it doesn’t feel like that, it just feels like a part of the beginning of a sad and tragic life ahead. But I might be overreacting, and surely I wish I am, because if not, I might not make it further than the 25. 

I feel like everything I’m good at is destroying the things that surround me, and being deeply sad, and surely depressed. I can’t do it anymore, I’m barely holding it up, before the act falls down over me, crashing every lie I’ve perfectly built to protect me. 

And even if there was someone out there willing to listen to any of the shitty stage I’m going, not even will I not know where to begin but I will also end up being more tangled up and confused about the things I’m doing down here on earth.

For the first time, I believe all of the pain I’ve felt all of this time is the result of the rotting core I live up to, and not because of specific reasons that come from real-life situations. This pain is only an expression of something I cannot even understand, but it only makes me want to die 4 times a day, and cry whenever I’m alone. The tears are bitter every single time I cry, and the salt content within them are just forcing me to open my wounds, my physical ones, more and more. Something I cannot just control at all. 

I wanted this to be a letter for everyone. And the only thing I can say for everyone else, is that I’m truly, deeply sorry for everything I’ve caused all of this time, and that the love I once told I felt for every and each of you remains as a fire that lights me up in my darkest times. 


I tend lo link myself to the past most of the time, putting myself into a vicious cycle is almost impossible to escape from, but those chains that tie my to the past are way stronger than my will to build a good future and present as well. 

Right now, in this lost point in time, I am only able to see a spark along the tunnel I feel stuck in, and that spark is only misguiding me from what I really should be working on. I feel like this spark is only a force to a paradise I believe I need, but as well it is the certain way to lose my head, and myself. 

Whatever feelings I’m letting room for within my tired loins are surely consuming me slowly, in a way that, feels like a pleasure being eaten to death, but a pleasure that falls in the splattering of blood all over white walls that cannot be clean to a funeral white again. 

My feelings are something I’m capable of writing about, but the thing I write about them ends up being a pure cliched-mosaic of Hollywood’s purest box office movie, still I believe in my feelings, and will continue endlessly to write on them, even if my words turn to lies at some unknown point, but that’s what artists do mostly, lie. 

I’m wandering around the main topic of my prose, but definitely I’m certain that the point is just bullshit I’m going to cry on whenever I come back. But well a man’s gotta have something to mourn within his poor tear-poured soul, doesn’t he? 

Mine is just going to be filled with the saddest thoughts about the men and women I’ve loved for my short life, and the way they continuously keep on unloving me, like it was some kind of sport they could become masters on. 

I gotta tell you that I love feeling the pain within me. That’s all. And these written links will connect me, some sooner, some later, to the enjoyable pain of being hurt by the past. 


Today I went down a blue valley where depression is the main character. 

I still don’t know how this happens, but I happen not to question it since this blue sadness goes fine on me, most of the times. Just when no blood rivers roll down my arm or leg, just after I’ve cut myself because of the feeling of shame and lust. 

I miss my life before everything went so wrong as it is. I miss watching my little young Jack smile at me whenever he found out I was staring right into that cute little face that reminds me of the child that lives inside of him, even to this day. 

I miss feeling brand new everyday, like something great was going to happen without any expectation. But those unwanted feelings that were there making me feel greatly lucky are now dead and gone to somewhere I am not able to go.

I walked home, and Henry was there walking by my side. But surely I felt empty, like I’ve always felt. Maybe it is me the wrong one, the one that screws everything up when it is about to go amazingly good. Had I known I would feel this way now, I’d likely wouldn’t have taken the steps I took.

All of my feelings are mixed up in a mosaic unreadable, unknown, and unwillingly to be read by others. 

Within me I perceive in everyone’s faces an unpleasant common sensation of fallen grace when they look at me. And I can make this go away. 

The love, all of it, is just something to mourn. 

And whenever feel I know where to go. 

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Tattoo done by Gábor Kanyuk, Germany


Tattoo done by Gábor Kanyuk, Germany

52,310 notes


Honestly, I don’t even know how to begin this. It feels surreal, life feels fragile, and like in a moment I could fall and break to a million pieces I’d be never able to put back together. 

You know, it feels really weird, being myself is the weirdest thing I’ll ever face. 


Before coming here and pour most of the thoughts I’ve had in the past 2 months, I hesistated and certaily I’ve quite a bunch of reasons to. Things in my real life have gone worse. I honestly thought that things were to work out as the movies picture, but they didn’t. 

Instead they twisted, and choked me. I guess it’s part of maturing. and learning, but these ways are too hard for me to face, I’ve gone to that thought again, of taking my life away, and put myself to sleep for a long nap I will never wake up from. 

I’ve built my world using people as bricks, since I thought these people surrounding me were going to stay strong and tall through everything that could come across our way. I believed it was the best way I could build an empire, but I was quite wrong to put my faith in that thought.

I hurt people, I did. I can live with my mistakes, but I apologized too. Nevertheless my apologies were ignored nor took in account. I’m sad, and my world crumbled down. I’ve cried every day ever since the incident. No one can really make me feel right. 

And I will do this until I can live again in another town, another city.


I’ve tried so hard to make myself believe that is enough just to write about the things and don’t talk about them at all. I wonder now if it’s worked for me. I’m so deeply broken right now, too many things happened on the weekend, things I will not heal from easily. And it is hurting me so bad.

Jack hates right now, and it hurts. But also he added Henry in the social networks he has an account on. I said to Jack when he asked me about him that they could go together if he wanted, and it is not okay, because it is killing me inside. Killing me slowly and softly, enjoying the pain it causes me. 

I cannot think of anything else in the meantime, I don’t know what to expect. 

I’ve prayed so hard for a sign, and the sign came. 

I dreamed last night and there was a song constantly playing in my dream. It was P!nk’s Try. It is a no-give-up anthem, and probably that what I should do, but I’m confused on what I shouldn’t give up on. I believe it is me, I should give up on me, whether I’m so hurt, I’m gonna recover. 

I cannot do anything about what’s bound to happen, because if these things are meant to happen, they will happen, and no matter how much I try to stop them from becoming a reality, I won’t be able to. 

I have to work on myself and be stronger for all of the things that will happen. 

If Jack stops talking to me, well that’s his choice, if he can’t forgive me for something he believes I did but I never did, it is okay. 

I cannot stop him from doing whatever he thinks it’s the best.