GentlemanLoser
Ex-Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jun 16, 2006
- Messages
- 0
Mind gone taut with the stress of thought you lay awake exhausted.
It's not a matter of "when" it's "if" now, when questioning the posibility of sleep.
Sometimes it bothers you and often it doesn't, time slowly mends wounds but there are other times. When the torments of everday life overlap with the inner demons we duel daily. Those metaphorical, problem-based, historical demons we fight. Memories that haunt rather than remind. You can not file it away convienently as you're prone to doing. Instead it breaks-free of it's restraints and goes on a rampage through your waking mind.
It's 4a.m. and you're sick of looking at the godamned ceiling. It's dull and uninspiring. A blank, white pallate for you to draw conclusions on. Assumptions. Or maybe they actualy are valid theories.
Right or wrong it's over. Like the worst disease, which she was, there are after effects. The kind you have to accept and acknowledge instead of ignore before you'll ever get past them. But that means facing them and that of course just isn't an option. Why? Not today. I don't have time. To busy. Other things to do. There is always another excuse.
Excuses are easy, acceptance is cruel.
As money, school, life and death, the garbage in the kitchen, the empty bottles on the table, all compile into one riot of ignored realities. She creeps in a bit more and a bit more.
But each time it gets a little less painful. A little closer to Closing Time at the Self-Pity Tap.
I know I won, but how come it still feels like I lost?
[ 21 October 2002: Message edited by: GentlemanLoser ]
It's not a matter of "when" it's "if" now, when questioning the posibility of sleep.
Sometimes it bothers you and often it doesn't, time slowly mends wounds but there are other times. When the torments of everday life overlap with the inner demons we duel daily. Those metaphorical, problem-based, historical demons we fight. Memories that haunt rather than remind. You can not file it away convienently as you're prone to doing. Instead it breaks-free of it's restraints and goes on a rampage through your waking mind.
It's 4a.m. and you're sick of looking at the godamned ceiling. It's dull and uninspiring. A blank, white pallate for you to draw conclusions on. Assumptions. Or maybe they actualy are valid theories.
Right or wrong it's over. Like the worst disease, which she was, there are after effects. The kind you have to accept and acknowledge instead of ignore before you'll ever get past them. But that means facing them and that of course just isn't an option. Why? Not today. I don't have time. To busy. Other things to do. There is always another excuse.
Excuses are easy, acceptance is cruel.
As money, school, life and death, the garbage in the kitchen, the empty bottles on the table, all compile into one riot of ignored realities. She creeps in a bit more and a bit more.
But each time it gets a little less painful. A little closer to Closing Time at the Self-Pity Tap.
I know I won, but how come it still feels like I lost?
[ 21 October 2002: Message edited by: GentlemanLoser ]
