Monday, December 29, 2008

I seem to always be dizzy. On a ride, excited, yet highly dreading it at the same time. Wishing I could just shut everything down. Just wait for the right time, wait until I'm ready. I keep pushing, like running up a hill, you are dizzy, sick, tired... feel like you really can't push anymore, but you do. When your finished you're too tired to be proud or to look back at all. Sometimes you do just give up, then years later you find that it's still on your plate, that no one is going to rid you of the pain it carries. The people you love leave, the ones who leave progressively cause the most tears, indeed, but not the most pain.

You start to appreciate things, tend to not care that no one will hear that song you wrote or the words that you make. You find someone worth friendship and loose people you guessed were worth your time. You learn that your brain is wired differently, but yet you never cease to stop wishing for the person that will understand and be intrigued.

The end comes near and you don't really give anymore, empty words tend to come out of your mouth. You want nothing more than to be content, but often you find that being crazy was your last option. Your dreams stay the same while your conscious mind tries to trick you out of them. Your split personality starts to nip at your ankles until you swat it hard enough. It will be back by dinner.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

key words.

Eventually things pull together.
thats all I have to say.

Check er out.

(she's the diggity poo)

Monday, December 15, 2008

How could I not recall who I talked to?
I’d been waiting for that dialogue long before you could have contemplated.
You’re wearing me down; I don't even use my soul anymore.
I don’t want to go back on stage and smile, but damn I can’t frown.
I used to fly I think, but I have no Idea why it was so nice.
I am taking off, I took off, why am I still durable here?
Where did it go, it disappeared?
A fine place to live, sure, I've got that.
How can each person be in motion right now? I can't believe what I see,
so boring, the world moved on without me.
I ate my dreams away; I worried myself to sleep perpetually.
I use so many exterior words, where is my connection. I am kind of fed up with how, who, why isn't this about you? Why don't I feel captivating in this enchantingly dark place?
Is it bad that I can't think of anything worth saying?