Nonsense Again

Sure, things are much more fuzzy from far away, but sometimes that green grass somehow seems to beckon me nearer.  It's anyone's guess how I haven't tripped on my own two feet any more than I have.

I want to put the pen to paper, I want to cut the shapes and forms, but it's like I need someone there to hold it for me.  My mind is full.  So many ideas, so many shapes, and soon-to-be discoveries, but my legs don't listen.  My legs cut veins that communicate with the heart.  My arteries keep pushing ideas, inspiration, and creative energy out but my arms and legs can't taste them.  There's something in the gap between that stops me.  I'm a mess really; this isn't even what I set out to do or who I set out to be.  Does anyone even know me?  Can anyone hear this?

Where can I write and come back?  Where can I edit?  Who can I share with?  I wish I could forget it.  There's nothing between myself and who I am, but an increasing expanse between who I am and who I want to be.  Please don't forget me.  Don't lose me.  And don't water the grass on the far end of my reality.  Can't you see I've done enough?  Can't you see the fertilizer I've left in the distance beyond me?

And yet again I'm falling deeper into empty philosophies and barely visible fog and clouds.  Maybe some day I'll escape.  Maybe some day you'll hear me when I'm calling from the inside.  Please

don't

leave

me.