Remembering Why Communicating is Exhausting

I think I became angry on accident. I was sailing through the slight places among the piers. I was, at that time, blissfully unaware. Anger stole up on me at the suggestion of others. Those others who slammed into me their conventional morality. Now, see, I tried to live by that dictate until the day I found out it was already too late. 
By some silent act that happened to me I had already slid into the dirty. Soiled under clothings, rolled in a ball, rolled down the hall. Rolled down the hill, grass stains attached to every crease and smile. 
The smile was a demonic thing, this forced out creeping. Alone with myself I see that if i were to believe in so narrow a thing I would be a masochist who allowed all the congregation their desire-to be sadistic.
I untangle myself, and gather like storm clouds on a larger horizon. Dropped down stepping stones throwing. Small and weeping. It is all a ways of telling me to be silent, be still, don't tell because they don't want to hear. The hearing itself is tricky. 
I am not electing your sympathy. I am crawling out numb and with a gun, recoil still fierce and bruising my arm. I am not electing any policy of forgiveness, either. Can't you tell by my romance with pistols? 
Forever flavoured the design on my hand, the reaching in was the hard part. Departed memories of slipped away. 
I used to feed myself drugs to enter a space unknown before. Understand the regrettable, and live with it until it becomes livable. Context.
Reflect.
Violence flaunted itself to me, see, flaunted in that way that was daunting. I stood like a deer and shook out the leaves from my fur. I could feel the pain before it hit me, pierced me, bled me, toxins riot in the intestinal spagetti. 
Please is not a word left in my vocabulary now. A wasteland of wanting is disecting my grace. I hold both my hands up to cover my face. Yes, of course, I wanted the release of letting you in. Further than skin can, my words bled... But I am above telling now, just for the sake of stay silent, stay still, don't tell... You don't want to hear it, do you? 
Let's forget I started this. You can tell me the local news. I will refrain from telling you this is why I don't own a television. I won't care until it is fifty years from now and history. I sweep what is left of my respect into a plastic baggie. My past is in the past, buried, and with no archeologist. My future is this dull, then, this free of connection to what built it? From the earth I gather roots. I gather them around and become the roof. You can settle your opinions on me and i will not move. You can say what you will but the walls are not listening. 
If you are not interested in the telling I am closed and getting demolished. This piece I handed you... under the anger was the confession and under the confession was the question of acceptance and if you could not hear under the layers I can not continue. 
This blue rises staff and shield. I was better before the context of you made all of this... so quiet.
Again,
where i run to in the deep dark urban sprawl is a place my beauty is masked by smoke. The places no one ever talks to me in. I am tired of tiring compliments about my body when I don't believe in a sepperation of mind and spirit and body. I am tired of bland bland bland f*****g. Every moment is passing, and what I am lacking weighs heavily.
Some deeper connection will solve the mutiny. I connect dots in myself and I seek nothing more. I buy myself wine and I stain my lips virgin red. I stain myself with suggestions sucking corks, and sucking similar minded fools. I am contradicting myself already. What I need is heavy petting. Just not you, please. Just not a random person with no connections other than the lastest television dramas. 
Never mind. I remember why I am angry. The months of waiting for another person to unfold their origami souls. I want to know now, before the disapointment, what cards do you hold? I tell you mine, even my mistakes. Espesially my mistakes.