User talk:Burkhamshire

Who do we become when we are no longer ourselves? Or are we always the same, but forever a changing chameleon? We have the same mind, wait, no we don't, we either are hypocrites later in life or we change our mind because of others or ourselves. We have the same skin, wait, no we can change that with just the cut of a knife now a days. So who are we? Am i now the old you? We're like caterpillars, we sleep for weeks, and one day, we wake and are beautiful. All of us aren't so beautiful after our transformations; we become either ugly on the inside, the outside, and sometimes both.

If i could, i would change what happened in those 5 minutes and remove the pacing down soul-killing hallways and nauseating stomache churns. If only time travel was possible.

You gave me the sun and i gave you the stars. In the end though we both recieved a long walk home by ourselves with the moon lighting the way.

I'm a part-time insomniatic and believer of fate. I don't get how we all can't see the end of the road.

Everything i am is a love song for the deaf and a sunset for the blind. You can feel me in your souls though; i know you can. You ignore me and turn the other way and act as if nothing has happened, but you know that it has. All i am is a lie; i am what you want to hear and not what you don't. I've got an ability to tell you only what you won't shoot me for. Some people call it being two-faced. Am i two-faced though? No. I'm merely using common sense. We are asking the world to be a peaceful place and one that only loves, but we are also asking for the truth. The truth is, the truth isn't what we always want to hear. We feed on lies and build our lives around them; it's the only way we survive these days. If you want the honest truth from me, give me your honest truth and be sure you'll be able to eat everything that you put on your plate. I know no one and i'd be nothing without them.

Oh, you're a lover, but more of a liar. Can you keep turning the clock's hands until daylight? Please tell me what your palm tells you about your life and how happy you'll be without me. Change your mind and stay in your compact car until nine at night by yourself. Can you keep telling me this? I'm happier.

Can you still feel the sun kissing your skin, can you feel it still? It would lightly kiss your skin while the morning birds sang. The sun sang too, a warm song that cleansed your mind and welcomed it to the new day. Can you still feel the child thats hidden within? Wanting to desperately find out how to free ones heart? That child could laugh at the simple things and worry about nothing; that child was once you. Smile. At once you captured all the light inside your soul, now its all gone.

I'm lost in these streets of thoughts and patterns. Lost without you; this was never part of the master plan.

I don't get why people ask you what people think their best trait is. Half the world is complaining about their looks and habits. Get over it. If we hate ourselves so much, how come we have a favorite part of us? Why don't we hate it all? Make up your mind! If you were to take that last sentance and just put it by itself it would probably make me a hypocrite, actually, even with the paragraph it makes me a hypocrite, well not really since i don't hate my body. There's things i don't like, but i don't hate it.

I had plans of growing up and moving to the other side of the world and escaping everything that i had done. I'd have to have no lover though. No one. Nothing. Just me. I'd swim across that ocean and live on the streets stealing from the rich and dreaming about your voice again. I'd be alone in the city. Cycle. All it is. It's nothing else, but that. I'd run away again. From what? You? Them? Me? Yes. Me and my mistakes. I can't face what i've done. I've killed a man in the past month by words and words only and i still am here. I want to think i never did anything that i did, but i can't. I can't erase the past. I can't change what happened, what i did, what you did, or how we understood each other. I'd say sorry, but sorry's not enough; even i should know that.

If i were to tell you the honest truth about me, you'd hate me. I'm not willing to take the chance to, and i hate that the most. The world confuses me. The only reason we believe someone has it better, is because they are lying about how they've got it, too. You never thought someone else would take your plan, did you?

I'd be able to work with people that are dead; they can't complain that their food is cold, their prescription doesn't work, or that it's my fault they're in prison; chances are, this time it's their fault.

In just three seconds we became strangers. Passed each other at the busiest street downtown and tried to keep our exchanging glances to ourselves and our thoughts of each other now not. We know words hurt more than blackeyes, and yet we are willing to go and hurt those who we love the most. I, i, i can't. I can't ruin everything i've become by becoming this person i'm not. Because then who are you? We are the same. You. Me. Us. I can't commit suicide and homicide. I met myself in this life, i met you. I'm not as bad as i thought, but i'm willing to hurt those i love and ask for second chances, but not give any. Tell me i'm better than that.

Electronic pets make me mad. They give me this idea that they're never going to get mad at you. They're never going to remember the time you almost let them died because you forgot about them. They're nothing like man's best friend or a best friend. They make me think i'm going to get away with all that shit in the real world, and that's what makes me do the things i do; neglect you.

Is there a difference between being depressed, knowing the world is going to end at some point, that all those you loved will die, and you too will die, and just knowing that? I'd like to think there is; therapists, counselors, psychiatrists, all of them, they annoy me. Who wants to listen to people they don't even know complain about their life?

Sometimes i just sit around thinking about how i ve got so much to do, when really, i have nothing to do at all. It s kind of like an imaginary life i live within my head. Behind my face

For the longest time i didn't want children, not a single one. I don t know if it was because i hated people, or what, but it always sounded weird when i said that i hated children when i myself was one at the time. I don't hate people i guess, i suppose it's just because i always was hated by others for no reason at the beginning of my life that i gave up. I'm a loner. It's kind of pathetic, but i enjoy it. I like watching people, it makes me aware of how stupid i am when i do things. I realize now that i do want children. I don't know how many, but i want them. I want them to have everything i never got. I'm not talking about material-wise or that i want to live my dreams through them, but more of a memory, moment type of thing. I want them to experience everything that i am letting pass by or that i have already let go. I want them to fall in love, and be happy. I wish our lives were made of those moments, and that we still knew how special they were even if we had never once been loved. I wish the world would last forever just so i could see those moments. I wish that we could look the same for forever; not youthful, and commericial, but candid, and happy with everything that we see and feel. I wish for the same thing that my mother did, to have children.

We are afraid to let people understand our minds and lives. We are more afraid to let them know, even though they too are either confused or insane by the same things.

I don't see how people hire somebody by their personal lives. I understand how somethings are impossible to ignore and that there are people who let their personal problems come to work with them. I mean i mess up, a lot. I ignore people half the time. I spend more time thinking about beats from my favorite songs than what college i want to go to. Doesn't mean i'd do that when i get hired. I'm being paid; that's the difference. I'd listen to you, i would try my hardest, i'd remember the time of that meeting, i'd go and get my bachelor's degree just to be better. This is why i'd be the perfect therapist; i'm just like all of them.

Everything and everyone i once hated and ignored are now the things that i cling onto for security.

There's no use in talking anymore. I ignore every conversation i have, and am always busy doing something else. I might aswell just stay focused on the other four things than how you are.

I used to make up secret codes. Every letter was different, and harder to understand than somebody with a heavy French accent and has a cigarette in their mouth at the same time. There was no way i could remember it. Triangle, square, diamond with dot on the upper left corner, heart. It was harder to write out than it is for someone who is learning how to speak sign language when they have no hands. I never remembered the code and its symbols for more than a few hours, maybe a day. Whatever secret i wrote down then became a secret that i was keeping from myself. I still make up secret codes; the only difference now is that i remember what i wrote whether it was Chinese in German or not.

The good news is that i'll never have to deal with you because you live in California now. The bad news is that i'll never have to deal with you because you live in California now. The other thing is, that California doesn't mean the West Coast, and you don't know that because you were never in that class.

I have an imagination, but i am not creative. The difference between the two is the fact that being creative makes you have to put in mind that you're dealing with real life, not a children's book that at times would be considered too scary to the parents of 3 year old, and even for some forty year olds.

I can make myself seem like everything you want for five mintues, but i'm not that kind of girl. I don't have good relationships with people. I'm more honest about things i shouldn't be. I'm not fooled by sweet talkers. Everything you think i am, erase it. I'm not your girl, i'm a shadow.

I've always been told to be professional in these types of situations. To be professional, according to the is not telling someone you hate their guts, not crying and moping around when really, that'dictionary, is to exhibit a courteous, conscientious, and generally businesslike manner in the workplace. Professional to me s what you do best, and not creating a collage using your post it notes. In my mind, this is no fun. Being professional isn't real either. How many people actually only have work on their mind and not something else? What about their children, their lover, their thoughts of suicide or what type of cake they're going to make their best friend even though they haven't been a best friend since high school? I don't know anyone who's just professional. I've also been told that when acting professional, you'll often succeed. I want to succeed because i am being myself, not someone that bites their tongue, has no fun, and doesn't think about their own life. If everyone had my idea, the world would quickly fall. If i was to let everything that's inside of me out, i'd be a bad influence and hated by most.

We've got good days. We've got bad days. It always seems to be a good balance and i'm confused about what it is i exactly feel anymore.

Wipe the sand from your eyes. Take a good look around. See the cigarette sand castles and let the salt water cleanse your senses. See the glowing rays of a sun peeking through the fog and clouds. There's no one here, it's quiet and before alarm clocks. Come down here screaming, screaming and yelling that you're wrong, you're all wrong. You've interrupted a calm and serene utopia. Go down to the waters and throw punches at thrashing waves. Stinging skin from cuts that have been invaded by the ocean's soul. All you're doing is searching for something more real; searching for something other than waves to punch. Child, child, don't you know that punching waves are useless, and words are stronger? You say that physical pain hurts less than emotional, and a part of me believes and agrees with you. I'm unsure about whether you're right, or not; whether what you're doing is helping them or hurting them. Pain is pain though, no matter what form it is given to a person, it still hurts. Now i know i still have a lot to learn from myself, but i'm trying; i really am. I no longer punch waves, but write love letters that turn into rants after the first eleven syllables in the sand to you hoping you'll see them before the sea washes them away with everything i once felt.

We play the game we learn to hate. We talk to our neighbors and trade each others secrets for red wine and a ticket in to the white picket fence society. Is this who we are? Is this who i'll become later on? Somebody who needs to feed myself, and watch other starves? I hope to never become this. I'll feed others, but not a meal of propaganda, but a meal fit for a king that will leave them full of laughter and memories.

Dreams are merely a vague inside to what is on our minds. They mean something, but not always what we think they do. They are constantly changing into better or worse things.

We are the mods old and young, hip style and sharper tongue.

Often times, we forget what we are and focus more and what we are trying to become. When we change and morph ourselves into something bigger and better, we are embarrassed of what we once were. We will never admit that that's who we were, who we are, who we always will be. We can change our clothes, attitude, views on life, but we can never discard everything that we were. We were born one person, and forever will be that person. I myself am jealous of those who are able to be born the way that they want to stay for forever. They never feel the need to change something; they believe that they themselves are good enough. They have confidence and ambition; they're the charismatic ones in the world. They're leading a revolution. During the generations of the youth turned old, there's always the group that believe they can change the world, and they do. They change it for the better, for the worse, in their eyes though, they're following their dream, to see change. So are those who don't change the changers? The shape shifters? Are they? I am unsure what they are, but i am sure of one thing, we are all capable of change. We may change ourselves, we may change others, but if we believe that the only way is up, then our world will be better.

People believe that hate is a strong word, but they are the same people that tell someone they love them after ten minutes. Love is a strong word. We are willing to point out only the negatives of negatives and the positives of positives; it doesn't work that way. Every object, person, action has a pro and a con to it; it can't just be one. You have to view things from other sides whether it's the "right" way or the "wrong" way to you. Things are not always the way you want them, people have different opinions on subjects and the same. There is always a minority side, not just a majority. The minority is shunned to the back and forgotten about, but you can't forget about them. They have a voice. They want to see a difference. Without the bad, we wouldn't have the good.

I don't think i'd like me if i met me.

Explain to me exactly what it is that you know about me. What's my hair color? Height? Weight? and how long have i been this way? Do you know my favorite number? The fact that i remember things by numbers, but i can't remember telephone numbers? You don't. You don't know me. You know me from the facts that are written on the outside of the box, but you don't know the daily percentage of me based on a 2000 calorie diet. Stop trying, it's no use. If you really wanted to get to know me, you would understand my language from the second we met.

There's a few things that you should know. I know all your secrets.

Maybe it would be kind of glamorous to dress myself up and dumb myself down just so i could say hello to you. I'm not the glamorous kind though.

I wish i could go back a few months when everyone was happy and we didn t fight on a daily basis. I constantly wonder why we even did begin to fight. I never meant to, and you probably didn t either, so how come we can t stop? All we ever seem to talk about anymore is the color of the sky and how many stars still illuminate the night and how beautiful it is. I love it, but i d love to talk about more without arguing about who s right and who s wrong.

People still have a lot to learn about the world and themselves.

I have fun spending time with you, searching for burried treasure using maps we make and digging up moon rocks. You make my life nice.

Up. Down. Up. Down. Left. Follow me through the woods into uncharted territory. The water s as clear as your mind these days.

It feels pretty good to just run and run until your away from everyone and everything around you.

I keep messing with my mind, my heart, your mind, your heart. I'm sorry. This is normal, natural, necessary for me.