Saturday, December 24, 2005

old poems of desire and thoughts

How can we live here in all of this muck and grime, weren’t we created for more? Is there something I’m missing, some thought lost in space? What is a full life? What of my skewed view of reality is it, or is it anything at all? What is true vs what is imaginary? What exactly is I love you or love, what do you mean by them? Where do I go to escape...can I escape? How can we live in hope of the future if this is our present? Love...Do you really love me? Is that my reality?


i feel like king midas with hands full of gold, everything i touch grows ugly and cold. i can’t seem to figure out why the only thing i can do is be sad and cry. here sit i stupid, ugly and not knowing why. were does it go wrong...this same fucking tale i can’t believe being i’m being haunted by the ghost of some other heartless brawd. i wasn't the one the evil selfish fairetale witch. i didn’t pull your heart to the floor, walking over it on my way out the door. i have never lied or cheated you. here, open and naked i have survived standing. waiting for you to realize that you can still feel and be alive. you are narcissus at the well only it’s her image that’s captured your spell. so lost in the memories of what could have been, you fail to see the truth of what is. and here is the funny thing it always is my fault in the end.


His music kisses, one lonely heart calling to another. A test of life, Is there really anything out there? The need to feel something becomes to heavy, weighted by all it’s unattainably. Fears binding you so that it's damned if you do, empty if you don’t. Mind and heart bating each other so there is nothing to keep you in sanity. Come and drive, ravage or ignite. Touch the earth to the sky, creating light. I want to be in bed at the end of the day surrounded by tangibility. I am entrenched in my immobility.

In the emptiness of music and my apartment I find you escaping out of my thoughts again. There is a void eating out of my insides and crushing the light hope. My restraint is greater this time than the want, the need to reach out for you. Instead I chase the ghost of you across websites and unfinished stories. Finding my sadness echoed in the songs of the beautiful people. They the beautiful people become those false gods of imagery that against my better judgment I wish to be like. All my passion as been zapped out by the emptiness of love and I don’t believe in my beauty anymore.

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