I do to much; seems thatís often all Iím capable of doing; and I desperately wish I didnít; and if I didnít I was wishing I did. Nothiní and no one can win against me. . . More so myself;
J Ė the reality vs JJ Ė the public persona.
J Ė The troubled teenager; Anti-social, thoughtful, knows nothing and wants to go home.
JJ Ė The funny guy; always knows everything, always capable of makingí people happy, sarcastic but in a nice way. Though holds grudges against stupid people and actually enjoys pullingí Ďsomeí people below himself to stomp upon. Aní no words touch/hurt him.
Itís a battle in which the winner isnít clear; one in the same they both win; they both loose. . . .
 They both are never really there.
This is the first time Iíve ever got this far in writing about my thoughts; and how hard they taunt.
But I donít know.
The J in me wishes to leave; I donít want to be here writing this,
I donít want you to be here reading this.

Why are you anyway?

The action of thought again; just another haunt.
I remember when I was a kid; Iím sure I didnít think and see things for what they are physically;
a life in denial
a life open not read as another paper work file.
My heads so vile; building upon the thought; a high pile
Here comes the rhyme
Watching each second; each movement in time
These words
My words
How absurd
if only you heard
Youíd listen
And my eyes just wouldnít glisten
I know thereís something
Something thatís missing
Something without condition
The drops are missing from this muffin
I no longer what to be a
Your willingly my demon
So in the land which is free;
Come cross our
Kidnap me; imprison me
In which is free.
Am I wrong or am I right? I donít know what to think, or what to do; or what to do about thinking.
But as long as I have thought Iíll have words.
As long as I have thought Iíll have pictures
Iíll always have me This is my torture to be