mymymymysharona
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2006
- Messages
- 494
(That, or I’m one fucked up kid. So I’m hoping it’s the former).
The lullaby my soul plays (for my own benefit, as is usually the case), is tinged by the sadness that’s infiltrated by the torture of pain years have caused. And I am no one, lost stumbling through the streets of a distant memory down some distant lane crowded and squashed by millions of faces I used to know, and some of them my own; hey- I looked happy! I can’t breathe, what are they all thinking and why are they staring? I want to go. But they say it’s simple to just change who you are, drop the myriad of facades that daily pop up to entertain and aid your moods, and that of others, drop it like it’s hot. But I’m too tired tonight to train my brain into cooperation of any sort, let alone forceful intervention; a fine line between knowing what is right and doing what is wrong. I’ll curl up, with eyelids closed on another day that saw nothing important, no one worth knowing and nothing accomplished, maybe some possible iota of happiness found in the afternoon cooling down, got me thinking how amazing it is- the mere fact the weather can change. Perhaps small wonderments can be my salvation if only I’d pay attention as I walked through these days, but something else always grabs my eye and god knows I can’t do more than one thing at a time. This grasp has made my skin turn a pale yellow and it’s stayed that way, even when I unclench, stretch my fingers out and inspect my skin, every wrinkle should tell a story but I’m finding it hard to find the characters and the plot and I’m sick of making it up as I go along. Drowning in another bottle, my thirst for escaping has turned into thirst for knowing. Find me later and I will talk to you, for hours and tell you some things I bet you never fathomed –the monotone quality of my voice would otherwise bore you but what I have to say makes you stay that little bit awake to still nod every couple of seconds and add your “mmmhmmm”s. But don’t leave me all alone, I hate how it makes me feel so alone. Drained and weary and yearning to feel alive again, like I just breathed for the first time and I’m trying to figure out how to walk; I want you (no idea who you are, but I feel like I’d know you if I saw you somewhere), I want you to show me cos I remember you make me feel alive. But you’re so out of reach right now and your phone’s out of credit and I don’t even have a phone and then I remember how unreliable people are. Simplicity is so fucking alluring right about now, it’s easiness and laziness and slowness grabs my hand and we skip together hair in wind, down this other distant lane where faces of me pop up again and this time I look old, and tired, and sad and pathetic. Confrontation born out of simplicity? I try to let go of its hand, it’s so easy for me to complain, please look at me and give me attention, can’t you see I am in need of a friend? I’m not a bad person, you got me wrong. I just want someone to listen to me, I thought I was… important?? Didn’t they say I was, those other faces of those other people I used to know in my other past(s)? These words- their every l e t t e r rises from the ground, and I recognize what they’re saying, the “quotes” come up from under their respective owners, some so old but amazingly still stuck in my head; some so cold but amazingly still hurt like they did those years ago; and these letters, they break from their words now, just like the people broke their words, and they form together in a crazy alphabet right above all our heads, turning into a cloud of rain and thunder. The rain centers itself on my cheeks (and weirdly, there’s that feeling important that I was desperately seeking!) and the letters squeeze tears into the corners of my eyes, wanting gratification for helping me cry when I thought there were no tears left. And because I’m nice, I thank them. As my left eyebrow rises in contemplation, and the tears coagulate around my chin, I search the faces for some answers and am met with fervent laughter, their mouths joining together in moon-shapes, their eyes wet from laughter- reminiscent of the stars that hang out on night’s carpet. And it all makes sense now, the mouths and eyes and words coming together metaphorically like a big circle no one can break but as I said, I have a short attention span, so now I’m still struggling to let go of simplicity’s hand, the grip has turned sweaty and simplicity’s face has turned cunning, I look down and my skin isn’t that pale yellow, it’s tainted red from the claws now dug in me, and as I look at simplicity and beg it to stop, it poses me the most interesting of questions: “Didn’t you say you wanted to feel alive?”
The lullaby my soul plays (for my own benefit, as is usually the case), is tinged by the sadness that’s infiltrated by the torture of pain years have caused. And I am no one, lost stumbling through the streets of a distant memory down some distant lane crowded and squashed by millions of faces I used to know, and some of them my own; hey- I looked happy! I can’t breathe, what are they all thinking and why are they staring? I want to go. But they say it’s simple to just change who you are, drop the myriad of facades that daily pop up to entertain and aid your moods, and that of others, drop it like it’s hot. But I’m too tired tonight to train my brain into cooperation of any sort, let alone forceful intervention; a fine line between knowing what is right and doing what is wrong. I’ll curl up, with eyelids closed on another day that saw nothing important, no one worth knowing and nothing accomplished, maybe some possible iota of happiness found in the afternoon cooling down, got me thinking how amazing it is- the mere fact the weather can change. Perhaps small wonderments can be my salvation if only I’d pay attention as I walked through these days, but something else always grabs my eye and god knows I can’t do more than one thing at a time. This grasp has made my skin turn a pale yellow and it’s stayed that way, even when I unclench, stretch my fingers out and inspect my skin, every wrinkle should tell a story but I’m finding it hard to find the characters and the plot and I’m sick of making it up as I go along. Drowning in another bottle, my thirst for escaping has turned into thirst for knowing. Find me later and I will talk to you, for hours and tell you some things I bet you never fathomed –the monotone quality of my voice would otherwise bore you but what I have to say makes you stay that little bit awake to still nod every couple of seconds and add your “mmmhmmm”s. But don’t leave me all alone, I hate how it makes me feel so alone. Drained and weary and yearning to feel alive again, like I just breathed for the first time and I’m trying to figure out how to walk; I want you (no idea who you are, but I feel like I’d know you if I saw you somewhere), I want you to show me cos I remember you make me feel alive. But you’re so out of reach right now and your phone’s out of credit and I don’t even have a phone and then I remember how unreliable people are. Simplicity is so fucking alluring right about now, it’s easiness and laziness and slowness grabs my hand and we skip together hair in wind, down this other distant lane where faces of me pop up again and this time I look old, and tired, and sad and pathetic. Confrontation born out of simplicity? I try to let go of its hand, it’s so easy for me to complain, please look at me and give me attention, can’t you see I am in need of a friend? I’m not a bad person, you got me wrong. I just want someone to listen to me, I thought I was… important?? Didn’t they say I was, those other faces of those other people I used to know in my other past(s)? These words- their every l e t t e r rises from the ground, and I recognize what they’re saying, the “quotes” come up from under their respective owners, some so old but amazingly still stuck in my head; some so cold but amazingly still hurt like they did those years ago; and these letters, they break from their words now, just like the people broke their words, and they form together in a crazy alphabet right above all our heads, turning into a cloud of rain and thunder. The rain centers itself on my cheeks (and weirdly, there’s that feeling important that I was desperately seeking!) and the letters squeeze tears into the corners of my eyes, wanting gratification for helping me cry when I thought there were no tears left. And because I’m nice, I thank them. As my left eyebrow rises in contemplation, and the tears coagulate around my chin, I search the faces for some answers and am met with fervent laughter, their mouths joining together in moon-shapes, their eyes wet from laughter- reminiscent of the stars that hang out on night’s carpet. And it all makes sense now, the mouths and eyes and words coming together metaphorically like a big circle no one can break but as I said, I have a short attention span, so now I’m still struggling to let go of simplicity’s hand, the grip has turned sweaty and simplicity’s face has turned cunning, I look down and my skin isn’t that pale yellow, it’s tainted red from the claws now dug in me, and as I look at simplicity and beg it to stop, it poses me the most interesting of questions: “Didn’t you say you wanted to feel alive?”
