Insomnia is a path around the walls of everday thought. I have this surreal feeling of time standing still, because I do not partake in it's escort. The energy around me is that of the knowledge of a bomb in the vicinity, and knowing I cannot think to escape it. I'm not entirely sure why, but something is about to blow up, metaphorically speaking. If I could only pinpoint what it was, I could warn the parties involved. I hope this isn't a premonition.
Still I do not mind wondering if people say things in order to illicit a response, or only to feed their ego. My thoughts are so tangent, I can only be the passive victim to mindless chatter. My art has come back to me, she was gone for so long I thought I would die, but she always does this, such an unstable muse. I never know how I could entertain her enough, persuade her to settle down with me, we could be lovers, and we would both be happy.
I want to let this go, I want to be alone, I want only the memories of what was going to be. Control my emotions, predict responses, secure a future of safety and dizzy bliss. I can restrict this no longer.
Still I do not mind wondering if people say things in order to illicit a response, or only to feed their ego. My thoughts are so tangent, I can only be the passive victim to mindless chatter. My art has come back to me, she was gone for so long I thought I would die, but she always does this, such an unstable muse. I never know how I could entertain her enough, persuade her to settle down with me, we could be lovers, and we would both be happy.
I want to let this go, I want to be alone, I want only the memories of what was going to be. Control my emotions, predict responses, secure a future of safety and dizzy bliss. I can restrict this no longer.