Post with 34 notes
By God,
Have you ever walked into the same place to see an old face
and cringe at the potential?
Have you ever liked someone so much that it crept by slowly as if time has stoppedwhen you are with them?
Have you crawled into a dark hole and choke on your words and stutter,
even though you can blame them on speech impediments?
I have. By God, have I felt that way.
I see a potential future that could click like two gears in a clock.
the constant ticking would mark the words we both spoke.
The friction is unbearable, but the grinds do not exist.
I wonder if the time has come for me to fuel the fire.
I wonder if I would come a second too late.
Regardless of my doubt, I want to give this a chance.
Regardless of my reservedness, I want to pour my soul out
onto someone who I think will become entranced.
I just got to swallow and shake my core a bit.
Post with 2 notes
Stagnation
I have come to swirl down the same toilet for ages.
The same water, the same place, the same pipes.
I am stuck. I am stuck in the drain.
>
Time has been racing by. Half of the year is over.
I am a student with half of it left.
Something kept on nudging in my ear.
this “riding the wave” is so stupid.
I cannot ride a wave in Mid West.
I want to go out. I want to explore.
I deplore though. The extent to the horrifies of failure.
It restrains me like a dog on a chain,
except strangers don’t pet me or make me feel less lonely.
Creeping estranged in the moonlight, I feel the tides
begin to bend and fold as the continium falters away.
Science is out the window, clocks are of no use.
and I believed in the notion that this wave could resurrect
the passion so terribly buried.
Post with 4 notes
Our Love Withered
I almost left town twice without telling you.
The highway is so close to home; I put up my thumb
and away into the night I would of ridden to a new home.
It isn’t that I hate you; it’s just our love withered.
I have waited for too long in hopes that you’d be ready.
Hell, I’ve waited a year and still I have nothing, but wasted time,
empty feelings and a physical boredom.
What do you have to say for yourself?
My heart would flutter at the thought of you.
My pulse would quicken as I felt your heartbeat.
These feelings intoxicated me like a drug, and
I was utterly and helplessly addicted.
I was also a fiend looking for some substance.
That was long ago, but now I feel the scenery withered.
My heart doesn’t flutter, but sigh at the potential
of what would have of been.
My pulse slows down as I fall asleep to the thoughts of you.
I’m not an old man, but I am not a child either;
I need something more.
i need something more than you can give me.
Post with 2 notes
Ivy Traps The Old Self
Months I have suffered from a terrible disease.
A rock formed in the pit of my stomach
causing pain to branch out through my veins.
When I was a child, I always wished to be a tree,
but now that I got a taste, I am not so sure.
I twiddle my thumbs across the other
watching the world spin so slowly and crookedly.
The day before my final cultivation,
I sit here seeing those I care for most.
The instability of this emotion created a cave,
when I expected to build a mountain.
Regardless I wanted something that went up not down.
Either way, I could create a home in either structure.
Whenever I sit alone on the edge of my bed looking
at the ceiling covered in dark paints,
I watch the traces of the paint, The roof to my home,
the top to my house, peel and fold.
I imagine them as origami twisted into paper cranes
flying out onto the night sky never to return.
Their wings so light the wind blows them away,
some get caught in trees, other fall to the ground,
and none ever make it across the fence.
I may as well be a paper crane trapped in the bushes
waiting resting as easy prey.
In my house, I created a forest and a new breath of life.
Whether they’re plastic of flesh, they give me the atmosphere.
I used to sit on a couch covered in ivy with a terrible cough.
The ivy built a comfy niche of nature for me to rest in.
I relaxed as the ivy begin to grow around me.
A human silhouette between the ivy leaves left me
with a feeling that I left my old self behind.
The ivy never grew there even years later.
When I stared at the image I used to portray on that couch,
I left my emotion there with it. I let everything go,
and I let the ivy grow around every other part of the house.
Some would consider it a prison, but I find the atmosphere freeing.
Breathing the clean air from plastic and flesh leaves made me smile.
It held out the muscles in my face longer than it used to be.
I left it all lying through in the ivy suffocating on clean air.
I left it all there while the toxic air is purified by nature.
I left it all there even though I left a whole past behind.
That terrible feeling
when you’ve become friends with someone from another country and they leave.
What I tell myself Each Day.
Sometimes, I sit alone and talk to myself. I say lots of things to myself like:
You’ll fail, but in the end you’ll make it.
How do you function the way you do?
Are you truely alive or simply dreaming?
Do you exist on any other planes of existence?
Can you still feel your soul beating?
Can you still do all the things you do?
While that seems quite interesting to spew out of myself. I’m rather biased and leave you the terrible things I say to myself. An example would be:
You look terrible. You have nappy hair. You looks like a mut.
You’re stupid. It’s your own damn fault. Make an excuse, inhale it, live it, breathe it.
Why does this have to happen to me? You’re pathetic.
IT’S ALL MY FAULT.
You were once perfect, but you flawed over time.
That is all the terrible things I tell myself everyday. Don’t pity me for I drown them out with.
You can do this.
You’re as perfect as you can be.
You have morals. You will not rot in hell, but battle purgatory.
You look good today. Your hair is perfect.
Curls, curls, curls….Good.
All this happens on a daily basis. Most of the time, I say these things all at once.
I get migraines. I wonder why.
