i wrote a poem the other day, but it is of little importance here.
at the lake:
"emotion sickness; addicts with no heroin. i think all the rest of my life will be a dedication to beauty, surrealism, and beauty through surrealism. i am at the lake. silverchair fills my ears. there is a woman with a red mullet, and blue and black dragonflies, and the yellowjackets will not leave me alone. the water is cool, ripe with the feeling of escape and summer. i am in my own world, between my ears; my stomach sickens me. a fat woman videotapes her kids swimming; her stomach sickens me more. her fat husband watches her with glazed eyes. this is the world, forever; trapped. inside yourself, wondering, what is this life? how did i get here? the fat woman crosses the dock; her every step jiggles my body. my body, which i do not want to jiggle. i couldn't bear to trap someone into loving me. it would only end like this- flabby, every laugh desperate."
at the lake:
"emotion sickness; addicts with no heroin. i think all the rest of my life will be a dedication to beauty, surrealism, and beauty through surrealism. i am at the lake. silverchair fills my ears. there is a woman with a red mullet, and blue and black dragonflies, and the yellowjackets will not leave me alone. the water is cool, ripe with the feeling of escape and summer. i am in my own world, between my ears; my stomach sickens me. a fat woman videotapes her kids swimming; her stomach sickens me more. her fat husband watches her with glazed eyes. this is the world, forever; trapped. inside yourself, wondering, what is this life? how did i get here? the fat woman crosses the dock; her every step jiggles my body. my body, which i do not want to jiggle. i couldn't bear to trap someone into loving me. it would only end like this- flabby, every laugh desperate."
To wake one day, realizing that you've almost been asleep, lulled into a life of a 2-car garadge, a job you hate and trying to escape through eating or drinking. Material posessions like a nuse around your throat. To waste life away like that is more frightening than anything found on the darkest night.
Though it's only somewhat related, just thought i'd pay for a poem with a poem. This is something I wrote after my last relationship.
If I ever become lost in life, call a hitman:
"I must roam free, my mind is not a large enough place to be. But to be trapped in the thoughts of a narrow mind struggling desperately for an exit I cannot find. How did they trap me, my seditive now wearing thin, how did I get here? where have I been? Waking slowly to a world that seems so unreal a world where everything is false, i'm told how to feel.is love an illusion? a little slight of hand? a year has gone by like slipping grains of sand. You, my captor, my stalker, my keeper. get away, you're my grim reaper Where has life gone? Those around me carry on The fat of society still on their lips, the blood of the innocent staining their pressed shirts straight to the soul. Can your heart be drycleaned to remove the marks? Can your life be laundered? I come from darkness to sit in the light, this must be pondered."
[Edited on Jul 25, 2005 2:13PM]
[Edited on Jul 25, 2005 2:15PM]