2005-07-13 @ 12:54 a.m. Often empty, and this lack of language proves itself fatal in my condition. Seeking will never suffice, nor will these half-truths dispensed and disguised as answers, aimed only to pacify the longing. Full contentment is not an option, forcing me into holds dug too deep for description, engaging tensed nerves in a battle for preservation..a struggle allowing fear as the sole weapon poised against hoping silhouettes in the already heavy shadows. Seclusion a mandatory placement for a soul as dark as this pretends not to feel..Mine is a pile of refuse tossed aside in splintered forms, yet we know the wood from whence it came was once whole, even living… Yes. But now it tears into my side and carves away the portions that I once had deemed presentable, leaving only the rotting remnants signifying the presence of a half dreamed memory we all convinced ourselves we could escape. We lie and say it’s never really over, to sustain our hopes of second, third, and fourth chances- to rectify and justify and compensate our losses.. giving us one more second, minute, breath, lifetime to achieve. And achievement is so crucial in this world of contemplative idiots, scrambling for an extra cent to pay the rent in an out of reach neighborhood, where their children starve for attention as daddy runs out into the machine again, so they can afford the "finer things" in life..I suppose love is insufficient these days..Maybe we’d recognize it if it cost us more than an extra breath filled with sounds we tend to blend in with the rest of our confusion.
Read it aloud, feel its rhythm.
My Past with No Future