9\18\10
All the little things that take my breath away have slowly extracted themselves from my being. I sit, lay, stand with nothing in my heart. My head is full, like it always seems to be, but when I try to feel, nothing but sadness and longing seems to be found. I don't care to see a single, miserable soul and I’m left again with the loneliness I admire and long for. Who needs blabbing, incoherent, talking faces to dampen my already soaked soul? I just want to be alone. But the longing remains. The longing for what? I don’t seem to ever miss anything that has ever happened to me, but always seem to long for the things that are out there in the fabric of existence and are inexperienced. I seem to crave and desire those things that are always inches from my grasp, and therefore, impossible to obtain. Why does it seem so hard to “live”, to “experience” something, something worthwhile? The redundancy has been played to death, has been resurrected again and again as it continues to be murdered time and time again. I’m left hating this place we call living. Not home; do not mistake my words. I have protection from the elements and a roof over my head and I am every day grateful for it, but there is always a hole in my being that yearns for………..what?......I don’t know. I cross my heart and hope to dye if I do not find anything meaningful. All alone, the way it should be, why even need a shadow, a stunt double, a fake and a phony? My legs are asleep and I smell the stench the cheap alcohol produces off of my being; reminding me of my aimless mortality. I don’t know what else to do but be honest to the children and hope they never grow up. How abandoned and forsaken the ancestors left us, but then again they are always strangers that we probably wouldn't have ever stopped to acknowledge. One false move is all it takes to kill the dance to the wrong music that is always playing, reminding us that we will always miss the beauty in the melody of silence. All we do is sit there. The noise keeps rising/killing us and all we do is sit here
All the little things that take my breath away have slowly extracted themselves from my being. I sit, lay, stand with nothing in my heart. My head is full, like it always seems to be, but when I try to feel, nothing but sadness and longing seems to be found. I don't care to see a single, miserable soul and I’m left again with the loneliness I admire and long for. Who needs blabbing, incoherent, talking faces to dampen my already soaked soul? I just want to be alone. But the longing remains. The longing for what? I don’t seem to ever miss anything that has ever happened to me, but always seem to long for the things that are out there in the fabric of existence and are inexperienced. I seem to crave and desire those things that are always inches from my grasp, and therefore, impossible to obtain. Why does it seem so hard to “live”, to “experience” something, something worthwhile? The redundancy has been played to death, has been resurrected again and again as it continues to be murdered time and time again. I’m left hating this place we call living. Not home; do not mistake my words. I have protection from the elements and a roof over my head and I am every day grateful for it, but there is always a hole in my being that yearns for………..what?......I don’t know. I cross my heart and hope to dye if I do not find anything meaningful. All alone, the way it should be, why even need a shadow, a stunt double, a fake and a phony? My legs are asleep and I smell the stench the cheap alcohol produces off of my being; reminding me of my aimless mortality. I don’t know what else to do but be honest to the children and hope they never grow up. How abandoned and forsaken the ancestors left us, but then again they are always strangers that we probably wouldn't have ever stopped to acknowledge. One false move is all it takes to kill the dance to the wrong music that is always playing, reminding us that we will always miss the beauty in the melody of silence. All we do is sit there. The noise keeps rising/killing us and all we do is sit here
