I have many faces, but none are mine

There is this want of leaving my old self behind. I can just cash all of my checks and take a bus to... I don't know. I'd place my phone underneath the bus tire and just wait for the crunch. I don't want to be found, but I'd use a pay phone to let people know I'm alright. God, do they even have pay phones anymore? I suppose this would be selfish, but is it really? I've made a few people hate me these past couple of months, and I guess not hearing from me at all would be best. I'm not sad or even angry, I just want to disappear. Im not in love with anyone or have any ties to a person, so the harm would be none. Questions don't ever arise to the surface. How will I make it? Will I miss home? Will I be missed? None of these bother me. The simple reason for all of this bantering, is the simple fact that the person I am now is not the person I wish to be. I was once at the highend of the totem pole. Now, I'm just a worm muddling around statues. I've lost control over myself and its mirror. I'm an IT covered in makeup and insanity. Who is me? :( :D :/ :) ;) >:( >:) A thought that everyone thinks but fears to say aloud. I don't want to want. I want to be wanted. Do I though? Does this label miss me? I have to find who I really am. I can't sit here believing to be Samantha, when in fact all it is; is just a name. A name with an old meaning, but a name all the same. I don't identify with any belongings except for my teddy bear and a very special book. Truth be told I feel as if there are too many souls living within my own. One of the most beautiful ideas is one of the soul.A deity that makes us...us. Its a chaotic spiral of light and wisdom. As a commoner I have no means to comprehend my own painting. To understand that, is a charming notion.

It is time to go off into music and decadent masquerades...

Rosy Blues

There are times where I am so overwhelmed with dirty water feelings, that its sometimes psychotic. Nothing is purified and I think I'm okay with that. I want to cross the country with a goodlookin friend and some whiskey by my side. I come alive and I get punished for the howling. Getting lost in a mans guitar as he strums his troubles is a blue that soundly becomes rosy. I twist my hair and drop the moon in my lap. I don't have a true identity but several that spread out perfectly on my fingers, just like valuable rings should. Meeting a man who fits his gun in his vocabulary is a man for me. Down to earth and subtly weary, is a cost  that can be bought. A random thought: I want to travel down to New Orleans and chow down on some of that bittersweet cake and the flavors of the musty air. God damn do I feel a sweet peace tonight. A little room on my pillow and some sweet talk from the ones before me and I'm drowning in the atmosphere...