I've been fighting this almost constant urge to unwind because I find myself more or less ashamed of the juvenile nature my thoughts have been finding home in. I've never been one too inclined to complain. What is feeling sorry for yourself, anyway? I'm not anxious to find out. I make the most of every single place I find myself, from 10 pm home alones to 4 am realizations. Compartmentalization always has been a point of persona strength. So tell me, why does every song seem to give me a reason not to leave you behind?
It's that time again. Weeks on fingertips mark the duration of time between the last wave like this, and already I'm staring a new resistance in the face. Never try to forget what it feels like to be helpless. It's more reliable than short circuit alarm clocks and faulty electricity as far as reminders go.
Days go by without word from you, and yet, you play house inside the sound heat of my mind. Curled up in comfort, unmoving; I can't give away what was never unoccupied. Sometimes I wonder if my words give me away, and you sit on sidelines, behind computer screens, cracking a half smile at the shape you have me in. I'd find it hard to believe that you're clueless as to the condition of my mind whenever your name chooses to swim through its quest for tranquility. Failed missions fall at deadly feet. The confines of thought are a dangerous place to live.
I am momental. If left unwritten in the moment, thoughts and acts alike will remain so long after. Inspiration in cardboard cutout pieces. I have no clue what I want to say to you. More to the point, I have no clue what I can say to you. Lungs fill every day without new air. Maybe I need more than you can offer, but I don't think I want anything less. I'll be one more burden on your countless big things happening.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment