Sunday, December 31, 2017
Thursday, November 30, 2017
Mundane Rotten Gray Words
What does it take to travel far without leaving oneself behind? Bright colors lie beyond the horizon but they can seem so far away when sleep beckons from less than a room away. I'm searching for something unknown in my mind and so how am I to know when to call back the search party? How do I know when to stop and where to go? Will I ever even know if I've found it?
What am I looking for? Daily my movements are full of bright colors and big ideas but once I wake from the exhaustion after work I can't seem to find them anymore. I return to my notebooks, my journals, or any other outlets and there is very little left save for a few mundane tints and shades of gray. I want to paint the walls but not to paint myself into a corner unless someone else is nearby. I'm like a disaster movie playing on a VCR with the sound on mute. It's grainy and there is some semblance of ripe ideas but they can't escape if no one can find the remote, or perhaps even better if someone could find a digital copy of this film and a television that isn't analog on which we could enjoy it.
No one will read this for clues, and even if they do their search will likely be fruitless.
Gray words slipping through my fingertips, dripping down my brow, and falling onto deaf ears. Are you listening or just hearing? And even more, am I speaking or just making grunting and groaning sounds? Catch the vaporous smoke escaping that is all that remains from the once lit match.
Slippery.
Elusive.
Unsubstantial.
Gone.
A pigeon feather floating just above the fresh volcanic ash.
What am I looking for? Daily my movements are full of bright colors and big ideas but once I wake from the exhaustion after work I can't seem to find them anymore. I return to my notebooks, my journals, or any other outlets and there is very little left save for a few mundane tints and shades of gray. I want to paint the walls but not to paint myself into a corner unless someone else is nearby. I'm like a disaster movie playing on a VCR with the sound on mute. It's grainy and there is some semblance of ripe ideas but they can't escape if no one can find the remote, or perhaps even better if someone could find a digital copy of this film and a television that isn't analog on which we could enjoy it.
No one will read this for clues, and even if they do their search will likely be fruitless.
Gray words slipping through my fingertips, dripping down my brow, and falling onto deaf ears. Are you listening or just hearing? And even more, am I speaking or just making grunting and groaning sounds? Catch the vaporous smoke escaping that is all that remains from the once lit match.
Slippery.
Elusive.
Unsubstantial.
Gone.
A pigeon feather floating just above the fresh volcanic ash.
Sunday, October 15, 2017
Even Big Buildings Tumble
Chains outside the beautiful stone wall. A man stands at the door greeting passersby. As the masses enter they tie their masks around their faces. Only a lonely few step inside faceless. These lonesome few try to keep their heads from falling off their shoulders all the while they are pierced with judgmental glares from the corners of masqueraded eyes.
Inside the laser light show blinds any sense of true vision that may remain from the outside world. Neon signs flash in all corners, blaring propaganda of positivity in the faces of guests and members alike. The music, when not blaring overproduced self-indulgent praises, is set on turning any and all frowns upside down. No one frowns, unless of course they are a part of the charade. In fact, frowning is all but forbidden within the old wooden doors of the open gymnasium/chapel.
As the crowd settles in and the applause dies down the people adjust their masks and rush to their invisibly assigned seats. The older middle age man fake jogs onto the stage and makes a poorly timed joke and the crowd laughs on cue. The onlookers quickly quiet down and he says a few more words as the onlookers bow their heads. The tattered leather jacket of a giant antique of a book sits on a podium in front of him. Not once in the presenter's forty-five minute motivational speech does he even open the book. Instead, he refers regularly to trendy slides designed by a struggling or aspiring (it's hard to tell the difference sometimes) graphic designer and urges the crowd to follow along with him on their smartphones. The book on his podium is more like a visual sound block that the speaker strikes vigorously like a judge with his gavel, only this man does so emphatically spewing rhetoric to rile up the crowd rather than calm them down (if only to ignite their nerves inside).
Inside the laser light show blinds any sense of true vision that may remain from the outside world. Neon signs flash in all corners, blaring propaganda of positivity in the faces of guests and members alike. The music, when not blaring overproduced self-indulgent praises, is set on turning any and all frowns upside down. No one frowns, unless of course they are a part of the charade. In fact, frowning is all but forbidden within the old wooden doors of the open gymnasium/chapel.
As the crowd settles in and the applause dies down the people adjust their masks and rush to their invisibly assigned seats. The older middle age man fake jogs onto the stage and makes a poorly timed joke and the crowd laughs on cue. The onlookers quickly quiet down and he says a few more words as the onlookers bow their heads. The tattered leather jacket of a giant antique of a book sits on a podium in front of him. Not once in the presenter's forty-five minute motivational speech does he even open the book. Instead, he refers regularly to trendy slides designed by a struggling or aspiring (it's hard to tell the difference sometimes) graphic designer and urges the crowd to follow along with him on their smartphones. The book on his podium is more like a visual sound block that the speaker strikes vigorously like a judge with his gavel, only this man does so emphatically spewing rhetoric to rile up the crowd rather than calm them down (if only to ignite their nerves inside).
Monday, September 4, 2017
The Sly Smile of Betrayal
Is it true? Did you lie to me? How can you instruct me on how to live with your words and paint lies my hopeful heart with lies? I pushed myself away from my goals and my ambition because of you. I thought I was to blame for the extension because of you. I sat and soaked in my shame for years because I thought what you said was true.
Then you sanded down my only true Hope to help me feel "positive." You painted over my emotions with a thick silver lining that I could not see through. It has taken years, and perhaps there will be more to come, for me to be able to peel back the layers of falsities and thinly veiled promises. I'm a product of my environment but that is not all I am.
I'm growing stronger and more set in my convictions everyday. I cannot continue to sleep here with your artificial lights and lampposts. I cannot let you tuck my sisters and brothers in to sleep each night with your smallpox-laced blankets. Your comfort is not comfortable; it's complacency. You whittle down profound truths to bite size snippets and do not replace the pieces that you've shaved off. Or you replace them with your own thoughts and with your own opinions.
We must not all be like you. We were made different intentionally. Thank God not a stroke will be added, nor even a mark be truly taken away. I'm afraid that I too am guilty but I cannot absolve you or me. I won't paint the shadows with glowing hues just to hide their true identity and I won't be serenaded to sleep with your fables of fictitious freedom fighters. We all have faith in something and I won't let you rob me of mine.
Then you sanded down my only true Hope to help me feel "positive." You painted over my emotions with a thick silver lining that I could not see through. It has taken years, and perhaps there will be more to come, for me to be able to peel back the layers of falsities and thinly veiled promises. I'm a product of my environment but that is not all I am.
I'm growing stronger and more set in my convictions everyday. I cannot continue to sleep here with your artificial lights and lampposts. I cannot let you tuck my sisters and brothers in to sleep each night with your smallpox-laced blankets. Your comfort is not comfortable; it's complacency. You whittle down profound truths to bite size snippets and do not replace the pieces that you've shaved off. Or you replace them with your own thoughts and with your own opinions.
We must not all be like you. We were made different intentionally. Thank God not a stroke will be added, nor even a mark be truly taken away. I'm afraid that I too am guilty but I cannot absolve you or me. I won't paint the shadows with glowing hues just to hide their true identity and I won't be serenaded to sleep with your fables of fictitious freedom fighters. We all have faith in something and I won't let you rob me of mine.
Thursday, August 31, 2017
Beyond the physical reflection
Is it possible to have too much reflection? Is it possible for any of us to look so intensely into the mirror that by the time we pull ourselves away we are aged, hungry, and barely able to crawl to recovery? When we're looking past our own eyes can we see something beyond our own fresh coat of paint?
You can try to intimidate me with your predictions from the past. You can tell me I'm not man enough to continue as I am in this world, but I will not be fazed by you. I may be half asleep but the other half of me is awake. Remember that? Remember who I've been? Yes, I'll certainly listen to you and I'll even attempt to validate you in your own views and perspectives. I'll glean from you what I can without robbing your diamonds and precious medals.
I'm laying somewhere beside the shadows and the light cannot be overcome. I have words inside and out but I'm hollow like a drum.
You can try to intimidate me with your predictions from the past. You can tell me I'm not man enough to continue as I am in this world, but I will not be fazed by you. I may be half asleep but the other half of me is awake. Remember that? Remember who I've been? Yes, I'll certainly listen to you and I'll even attempt to validate you in your own views and perspectives. I'll glean from you what I can without robbing your diamonds and precious medals.
I'm laying somewhere beside the shadows and the light cannot be overcome. I have words inside and out but I'm hollow like a drum.
Thursday, July 20, 2017
Inside and Out the Lines
I've felt more human this evening than in prior days, or maybe months, or perhaps years. It's something about who I am and who I want to be. I'm hoping desperately for a change of pace, or more accurately, a change of place. I want to be somewhere else but something inside keeps pointing me back here. Something about sacrifices and Israel's desire for a king when the true King is already present.
Something I thought about earlier is the styling of some of my doodles lately. I found myself using more rigid lines and focusing more on coloring in spaces than creating freeform figures and shapes. That is contrary to what I've typically done, which has been more flowing and emotive characters
and forms and I think I know why. I think that when there's little to no structure here in my daily life I strive for at least some sort of inkling of it. Conversely, when I am in a meeting that may be full of ethics, expectations, boundaries, and barriers, my mind needs somewhere to escape to.
Call it a symptom of my humanity. Call it creativity's necessary motive. Whatever it is, I think I'm onto something here. Like a couple of years ago when I was pondering the thoughts around focusing on the most minute details and zooming out in order to see the faraway spaces. I think that life is made up of the moments in between these extremes. Sure, there are things that are black or blue, red or green, round or square. However, I think the majority of life is found in the in-between and outside the lines.
You see, back when I was in college I took a class called Beyond Dichotomies and I'm not too sure where my mind was in that time, but I think I'm beginning to understand the reasons why such classes are in place. The world is not just binary code. There is more to life than zeroes and ones. Maybe in those first few months of school I was so caught up in the adventure of being left to my own devices.
Now that some time has passed, I have had ample time to reflect on my experiences and begin understand more of myself and the world around me. How we're all a part of each other yet we're not the same. How the more things change, the more they stay the same. How the constant changing weather is a constant commonality in almost any location.
I guess gist of what I'm saying here (or well part of it at least) is that I'm really doing okay lately. It may just be for a moment, but what is life but a collection of passing moments in the end? Clouds may grow darker and larger in the sky tomorrow, but tonight I have moonlight giving me the perfect backdrop. I haven't found the indisputable meaning of life and I don't claim as such. I'm just letting you know that once I got up and actually left the apartment for a little bit today, things seemed different in a way that life used to feel.
That's all.
Something I thought about earlier is the styling of some of my doodles lately. I found myself using more rigid lines and focusing more on coloring in spaces than creating freeform figures and shapes. That is contrary to what I've typically done, which has been more flowing and emotive characters
and forms and I think I know why. I think that when there's little to no structure here in my daily life I strive for at least some sort of inkling of it. Conversely, when I am in a meeting that may be full of ethics, expectations, boundaries, and barriers, my mind needs somewhere to escape to.
Call it a symptom of my humanity. Call it creativity's necessary motive. Whatever it is, I think I'm onto something here. Like a couple of years ago when I was pondering the thoughts around focusing on the most minute details and zooming out in order to see the faraway spaces. I think that life is made up of the moments in between these extremes. Sure, there are things that are black or blue, red or green, round or square. However, I think the majority of life is found in the in-between and outside the lines.
You see, back when I was in college I took a class called Beyond Dichotomies and I'm not too sure where my mind was in that time, but I think I'm beginning to understand the reasons why such classes are in place. The world is not just binary code. There is more to life than zeroes and ones. Maybe in those first few months of school I was so caught up in the adventure of being left to my own devices.
Now that some time has passed, I have had ample time to reflect on my experiences and begin understand more of myself and the world around me. How we're all a part of each other yet we're not the same. How the more things change, the more they stay the same. How the constant changing weather is a constant commonality in almost any location.
I guess gist of what I'm saying here (or well part of it at least) is that I'm really doing okay lately. It may just be for a moment, but what is life but a collection of passing moments in the end? Clouds may grow darker and larger in the sky tomorrow, but tonight I have moonlight giving me the perfect backdrop. I haven't found the indisputable meaning of life and I don't claim as such. I'm just letting you know that once I got up and actually left the apartment for a little bit today, things seemed different in a way that life used to feel.
That's all.
Monday, June 26, 2017
Something a little Like This
A subtle love,
a New York City pigeon dove.
She's not afraid to look above.
Our hearts hold hands
in conversation and in silence.
She is herself
whether it's us or more.
She prefers the peaks
to the seashore.
It's enough
to just be close and
all it takes is
just one dose.
A unique perspective,
a different approach.
Something that keeps birds
flying and
penguins grounded.
Singing songs inside
me so that I'm not
performing acts of foolishness.
I guess we'll just have
to see. All we can
do now is guess.
a New York City pigeon dove.
She's not afraid to look above.
Our hearts hold hands
in conversation and in silence.
She is herself
whether it's us or more.
She prefers the peaks
to the seashore.
It's enough
to just be close and
all it takes is
just one dose.
A unique perspective,
a different approach.
Something that keeps birds
flying and
penguins grounded.
Singing songs inside
me so that I'm not
performing acts of foolishness.
I guess we'll just have
to see. All we can
do now is guess.
Monday, May 1, 2017
Why?
Why am I different?
Is it because I'm the third of three? Is it because I do everything I can to be alone as me? Is it because I live in the 21st Century? Or perhaps it's because this western hemisphere has got a tight grip on me. Could it be early childhood trauma? Could it be the soil that I've buried my roots in? Maybe a combination of thorns and petals? Could it be a blender of culture, religion, and psychology? Maybe I'm who I am because of who I am and in that way the answer to the question is found within the question itself..
If you want to hear the stories my brain's been drawing, please tell wake it up and give it a pencil in time. Now that I'm awake the words are asleep (again).
Fading colors feel like forced fiction.
Is it because I'm the third of three? Is it because I do everything I can to be alone as me? Is it because I live in the 21st Century? Or perhaps it's because this western hemisphere has got a tight grip on me. Could it be early childhood trauma? Could it be the soil that I've buried my roots in? Maybe a combination of thorns and petals? Could it be a blender of culture, religion, and psychology? Maybe I'm who I am because of who I am and in that way the answer to the question is found within the question itself..
If you want to hear the stories my brain's been drawing, please tell wake it up and give it a pencil in time. Now that I'm awake the words are asleep (again).
Fading colors feel like forced fiction.
Sunday, April 9, 2017
I hope this isn't all they give you
Is anybody out there? Will somebody listen? It's a song with passion. It's a laugh with a sting. I awake and you're not there. Every time we talk in my mind you're there and though it's like something from a dream, we're living beyond the clouds. You and I have a triangles between us and the strings that tie us together don't let me go any farther than the slack you've built up. I can hold hands and I can read pages between glowing phases but then I just fall asleep again.
On my way here I saw the signs. There were crows, ravens, and the bones of long forgotten felines on the path. The signs and symbols burned holes through my skull and I assumed I could just hold my breath for four years and not fall faint. The cemeteries littered the side of the road where dust and sand made the perfect potion thought to cure all pride and turn a blind eye to every prejudice. When the tumbleweeds and armadillos made way for white-painted suburbs and cul-de-sacs built with stained glass façades, my imagination took ahold of me. Maybe this won't be the death foretold in me.
Why didn't I listen to the signs? Is it because one's eyes can only see the sights? I cannot listen through these sockets in my face impeded by optical intrusions. I saw everything so clearly and I just wanted to start a new adventure so that I could continue my current adventure with new credentials and an increased skill set. Why did I leave the fertile ground for a library? Indeed I do enjoy reading and have had ample chances to fill every nook within my ears, but I'm not sure all of these were meant to be filled. Or perhaps not in this manner or with this substance.
I'll just fall asleep again and if you pass by me you won't even notice. You'll see me laying here like a whispered vapor that's somehow nearby but still feels farther than it is. I'll fall asleep again and you won't know what it's like to be awake with me, but after all you never have.
On my way here I saw the signs. There were crows, ravens, and the bones of long forgotten felines on the path. The signs and symbols burned holes through my skull and I assumed I could just hold my breath for four years and not fall faint. The cemeteries littered the side of the road where dust and sand made the perfect potion thought to cure all pride and turn a blind eye to every prejudice. When the tumbleweeds and armadillos made way for white-painted suburbs and cul-de-sacs built with stained glass façades, my imagination took ahold of me. Maybe this won't be the death foretold in me.
Why didn't I listen to the signs? Is it because one's eyes can only see the sights? I cannot listen through these sockets in my face impeded by optical intrusions. I saw everything so clearly and I just wanted to start a new adventure so that I could continue my current adventure with new credentials and an increased skill set. Why did I leave the fertile ground for a library? Indeed I do enjoy reading and have had ample chances to fill every nook within my ears, but I'm not sure all of these were meant to be filled. Or perhaps not in this manner or with this substance.
I'll just fall asleep again and if you pass by me you won't even notice. You'll see me laying here like a whispered vapor that's somehow nearby but still feels farther than it is. I'll fall asleep again and you won't know what it's like to be awake with me, but after all you never have.
Tuesday, March 28, 2017
Worthiness of the Self
How can it be so true to not be of worth if that's not the case for the rest of us? Of them? Remember what they say, "Hurt people hurt people." If my intent is not to do the opposite, how can I do so without acknowledging my own brokenness and working diligently to repair what is broken? I am highly motivated when I'm outside myself. Perhaps even when I am just outside of my the comfort of my home it works. I can write. I can think clearly without overthinking or at least dwelling on the unnecessary. And maybe today and right now is just one of those times, but who says I ought not to embrace it? Not me, that's for sure. I'm going full on. I'm going straight for it. That's it for now though. Let me remember the rest and perhaps I'll come back to it later..or maybe sooner!
Thursday, March 2, 2017
To No One In Particular
There are things I haven't done yet because I said I'd wait for you. There are places I haven't ventured into because your hand is not there too. Sometimes I fall asleep at night and somehow hope I'll wake up next to you.
I don't know how to tell you this, but you're no one so what does it matter? You are nothing as I am too. We're part of the wispy breeze that goes flows gently (and sometimes rockily) beneath the sun. We're no one, we're nothing, and significantly enough we are rather insignificant. I don't mean to let you down, I'm just trying to be honest. Let's be realistic so that we don't let each other down, or rather if we do we let each other down gently.
Still,
if I wanted to fall asleep in your arms,
would you let me?
I don't know how to tell you this, but you're no one so what does it matter? You are nothing as I am too. We're part of the wispy breeze that goes flows gently (and sometimes rockily) beneath the sun. We're no one, we're nothing, and significantly enough we are rather insignificant. I don't mean to let you down, I'm just trying to be honest. Let's be realistic so that we don't let each other down, or rather if we do we let each other down gently.
Still,
if I wanted to fall asleep in your arms,
would you let me?
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
Gray Hyperbole
Falling asleep in an effort to pull the emergency brake is flawed. The sun doesn't rise any slower. Falling in and out of nothingness is like trying to find one's balance on a cloud. I'm dizzily spinning in and out of something that always evades my grasp. If the world is full of nothing and the shadows just whisper in the dark, where does that leave you and me? Does anyone even hear the whispers above the clouded static that reach beyond the cordless vocals?
Nothing. That's all it is. Don't strain yourself for meaning. Don't reach for something that isn't there. Do not fear that you haven't found anything. It's like trying to reach into a glass of water to grab the strand of ink that is dancing ever gently.
Now the glass is empty and your head hurts for having tried. You can try harder but even with onions there isn't enough emotion to make you cry harder. Still. You'll try. Trust me; as I write this I can sense these things. What may have started out as a gentle nudge from empathic or sentimental synapses is now little more than hyperbolic shades of gray coming up for air.
No one will notice if you put the book down and walk away. You've proved you can read. Now show them that you truly value your time. Step back and enter into what a lived life is. Learn to thrive. Pass by the shadows of a forgotten soul on a page and learn what it means to thrive. Better yet, bypass the learning and just do it. You will learn in the falling. You will succeed in the failing. You will understand in the questioning. Do not let false impressions and imitations of wisdom trick you into believing words are the highest power. Indeed they have strength, something about swords and pens, but if you really believe that then create, practice, make mistakes, live.
There is something out there. Go get lost trying to find it.
Isn't that so much greater than waking up to find you wasted years thinking it would materialize in before you?
Fall with your face on the ground. The taste of the earth will set your feet on the trail, whether it's been traversed before or not is no matter; it's the forward motion pushes you further.
Nothing. That's all it is. Don't strain yourself for meaning. Don't reach for something that isn't there. Do not fear that you haven't found anything. It's like trying to reach into a glass of water to grab the strand of ink that is dancing ever gently.
Now the glass is empty and your head hurts for having tried. You can try harder but even with onions there isn't enough emotion to make you cry harder. Still. You'll try. Trust me; as I write this I can sense these things. What may have started out as a gentle nudge from empathic or sentimental synapses is now little more than hyperbolic shades of gray coming up for air.
No one will notice if you put the book down and walk away. You've proved you can read. Now show them that you truly value your time. Step back and enter into what a lived life is. Learn to thrive. Pass by the shadows of a forgotten soul on a page and learn what it means to thrive. Better yet, bypass the learning and just do it. You will learn in the falling. You will succeed in the failing. You will understand in the questioning. Do not let false impressions and imitations of wisdom trick you into believing words are the highest power. Indeed they have strength, something about swords and pens, but if you really believe that then create, practice, make mistakes, live.
There is something out there. Go get lost trying to find it.
Isn't that so much greater than waking up to find you wasted years thinking it would materialize in before you?
Fall with your face on the ground. The taste of the earth will set your feet on the trail, whether it's been traversed before or not is no matter; it's the forward motion pushes you further.
Monday, January 16, 2017
It's Always Different
I haven't had it this way. That's always it though, isn't it? If life isn't progressing, it's retreating. We can't stay stagnant like the last 3 and half years have felt. Sometimes I'll tell you and you'll run. I'll tell you and we'll stay "friends" enough for you to keep the story going and by the time our commitment is over, you'll disappear into the ocean. My lifeboat was tethered to you and I've been left at sea.
I'll tie myself to a passing vessel with a strong hull that births gentle waves. A ship that carries me with her. I'll tangle myself in weeds and brush, thinking surrounding myself with all this algae and life has to be getting me somewhere. My heart dreams of letting go and holding onto you. You're a ship that sails just close enough to leave me wanting more. I fall under and the near lifeless drowning sensation excites me.
I fall and the voices inside tell me not to tell you. I fall and the motivational posters say Seize the Day! I don't know where to live with the sturdy ground. I don't like standing still. I'm not content with seeing my reflection staring back at me. I want to hear your voice. I don't want to just hear you whispering nonsense into my mind. Your vessel close to mine and we're both steering our ships intentionally.
You're not the coal in my engine keeping me going. You're not the heart in my chest that keeps pumping until one day it won't. You can't be my solution and my problem at the same time. Can you?
Can I cut off this string without immediately looking for somewhere else to tie it? My heart is light. So light that it's almost heavy with a sixth sense of knowing it's not realistic. Who is going to save this one? Can one live in a lifeboat alone? Are you a tiger or the Coast Guard? Are you my saving grace or empty space? You can't be either; it all happens for a reason. Love is just a season. I want it to be a lifetime. I want the honeymoon beyond the horizon. Is that too much to ask?
I'll tie myself to a passing vessel with a strong hull that births gentle waves. A ship that carries me with her. I'll tangle myself in weeds and brush, thinking surrounding myself with all this algae and life has to be getting me somewhere. My heart dreams of letting go and holding onto you. You're a ship that sails just close enough to leave me wanting more. I fall under and the near lifeless drowning sensation excites me.
I fall and the voices inside tell me not to tell you. I fall and the motivational posters say Seize the Day! I don't know where to live with the sturdy ground. I don't like standing still. I'm not content with seeing my reflection staring back at me. I want to hear your voice. I don't want to just hear you whispering nonsense into my mind. Your vessel close to mine and we're both steering our ships intentionally.
You're not the coal in my engine keeping me going. You're not the heart in my chest that keeps pumping until one day it won't. You can't be my solution and my problem at the same time. Can you?
Can I cut off this string without immediately looking for somewhere else to tie it? My heart is light. So light that it's almost heavy with a sixth sense of knowing it's not realistic. Who is going to save this one? Can one live in a lifeboat alone? Are you a tiger or the Coast Guard? Are you my saving grace or empty space? You can't be either; it all happens for a reason. Love is just a season. I want it to be a lifetime. I want the honeymoon beyond the horizon. Is that too much to ask?
Thursday, January 5, 2017
Return to Sender
To the one who I thought she was before,
I thought I found you pining for my heart but you I was mistaken. In fact, you're still reaching for the fire escape from another's. I've got time and I won't wait for you alone. Not now.
To all the people beside my insides,
You don't control me. You might try to console me, but you are not me. You did nothing here. I'm a littlefirework.
No. My words are gone again. In the car, or almost anywhere outside of the vacuum where I live, the words flood. Here the drought fills up the room with so much emptiness it's almost too hard to breathe. I hear voices in the distance telling me wait. I feel silence in the shadows and it crawls in through the tear in the gate. I can't keep tripping over empty footsteps as I make them myself. I make no sense but want desperately to compose with you. I want to compose with you. Where are you now?
I thought I found you pining for my heart but you I was mistaken. In fact, you're still reaching for the fire escape from another's. I've got time and I won't wait for you alone. Not now.
To all the people beside my insides,
You don't control me. You might try to console me, but you are not me. You did nothing here. I'm a little
No. My words are gone again. In the car, or almost anywhere outside of the vacuum where I live, the words flood. Here the drought fills up the room with so much emptiness it's almost too hard to breathe. I hear voices in the distance telling me wait. I feel silence in the shadows and it crawls in through the tear in the gate. I can't keep tripping over empty footsteps as I make them myself. I make no sense but want desperately to compose with you. I want to compose with you. Where are you now?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)