Now I am running so fast and hard that all the things, the weights, the burdens, the anxieties, drag behind me like tin cans, still clanking, but behind me for the moment. The ironic part is, when I stop to rest, or to breath, or to think, then they clank the loudest, overpowering my mind and my everything, and then I have to run again to drown them out.
On another note, why does the male species have to SUCK sometimes? Huh. I mean, I am an advoctae for the fact that both sexes suck more or less when it comes to love, but right now, I am just UPSET. It's so fucking stupid. It's shit I would never put up with. So why am I? Because I am an idiot? Exactly! No matter how much I try to force open the blinds of reality, of communication, or basic human relation, it is not making a difference.
When someone you loved many moons ago, in lifetimes past, shows the tiniest effort of human acknowledgement, and it is more than the current creature does, what does that mean?
I never dated women because I always felt they would be to emotional, and all wah wah, but I see that it doesn't matter. Man, woman, fucking the cat next door, it can all go the whole nine yards, into the land of beauty or into the dark abyss of pain and heartache.
And so I want to be strong, and fall back in love with myself, and need no one else, not a soul, just the solitary pillar of my own flesh, and yet, I ache. I ached for things gone, for things present, for things to be.
It's a rough spot, a speedbump in my path, a huge, monumental one that once I get past it, offers moguls to navigate afterwards. I am hoping that, over the horizon's belly, past the navel where I can't see, there will be a smooth valley for me to slide down, and just glide for a while, and feel peace, joy, excitement.
These are all things within me. No one else can make them for me. They can help me feel them, or take them away when I have them in my palms, but in the end, it all swirls inside me, my own fireball to either blow oxygen on or to douse with my own pee. Eww. I thought of pee and the pride men take in peeing on the campfire when it is time to leave, in order to snuff it out.
It is Friday. I am alone, reading a book, trying to reaquaint myself with me, that person that I don't see when I look in the mirror. My phone rang, the call I wanted, but that I waited too long for, and so now, the one that should have happened on its own, of its own accord, with beauty and light inside of it. Now it is twisted, ugly, a forced creation with a structure I can no longer see as solid, as truth.
You leave one failed rainbow behind, even though you adored the colors, too much, so that you couldn't see the world of reality under it, and so you left it when they assumed your presence, that you would be there, that the effort of life and love and art could fall aside...and then you find yourself later in the same place, except that the eyes of this one refuse to open. They are apathetic, limbs drained of the mastery, eyes shut and asleep, a body on a couch, the other one, mine, on the roof, her eyes squeezed shut like a little child in her imagination, thinking if she just concentrates hard enough, she can sprout those sparkle wings that used to shine.
Yeah.
So I am crazy.
But at least I care.
At least I am alive..again.
I'm crawling and clawing at the ground to escape the drak place, and when the one that should grab your hand, and bring you light, sits there in their own ignorant grave, then I am left the only choice, the only option, of crawling out on my own, salt in my eyes, but with a pinhole of hope poked into the dark belly of the sky.
On another note, why does the male species have to SUCK sometimes? Huh. I mean, I am an advoctae for the fact that both sexes suck more or less when it comes to love, but right now, I am just UPSET. It's so fucking stupid. It's shit I would never put up with. So why am I? Because I am an idiot? Exactly! No matter how much I try to force open the blinds of reality, of communication, or basic human relation, it is not making a difference.
When someone you loved many moons ago, in lifetimes past, shows the tiniest effort of human acknowledgement, and it is more than the current creature does, what does that mean?
I never dated women because I always felt they would be to emotional, and all wah wah, but I see that it doesn't matter. Man, woman, fucking the cat next door, it can all go the whole nine yards, into the land of beauty or into the dark abyss of pain and heartache.
And so I want to be strong, and fall back in love with myself, and need no one else, not a soul, just the solitary pillar of my own flesh, and yet, I ache. I ached for things gone, for things present, for things to be.
It's a rough spot, a speedbump in my path, a huge, monumental one that once I get past it, offers moguls to navigate afterwards. I am hoping that, over the horizon's belly, past the navel where I can't see, there will be a smooth valley for me to slide down, and just glide for a while, and feel peace, joy, excitement.
These are all things within me. No one else can make them for me. They can help me feel them, or take them away when I have them in my palms, but in the end, it all swirls inside me, my own fireball to either blow oxygen on or to douse with my own pee. Eww. I thought of pee and the pride men take in peeing on the campfire when it is time to leave, in order to snuff it out.
It is Friday. I am alone, reading a book, trying to reaquaint myself with me, that person that I don't see when I look in the mirror. My phone rang, the call I wanted, but that I waited too long for, and so now, the one that should have happened on its own, of its own accord, with beauty and light inside of it. Now it is twisted, ugly, a forced creation with a structure I can no longer see as solid, as truth.
You leave one failed rainbow behind, even though you adored the colors, too much, so that you couldn't see the world of reality under it, and so you left it when they assumed your presence, that you would be there, that the effort of life and love and art could fall aside...and then you find yourself later in the same place, except that the eyes of this one refuse to open. They are apathetic, limbs drained of the mastery, eyes shut and asleep, a body on a couch, the other one, mine, on the roof, her eyes squeezed shut like a little child in her imagination, thinking if she just concentrates hard enough, she can sprout those sparkle wings that used to shine.
Yeah.
So I am crazy.
But at least I care.
At least I am alive..again.
I'm crawling and clawing at the ground to escape the drak place, and when the one that should grab your hand, and bring you light, sits there in their own ignorant grave, then I am left the only choice, the only option, of crawling out on my own, salt in my eyes, but with a pinhole of hope poked into the dark belly of the sky.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
best of luck.
Love, another four letter word.