Cosmic Mist
Bluelighter
It's been a while since i was a teenager, and so many things in my life have changed in that period. I feel so old, and weary, and sometimes it's as though nothing in this world that can make it feel better again. I keep myself so tightly wound that it should not be such a surprise that i snap with such alarming regularity... i mean it's almost routine now... right?
When i was younger i used to write poetry. I used to write stories to my friends, and romance my lovers with lyrics. I could paint the world a thousand different colours with the stroke of my pen, and dazzle even the sun itself. Nothing was too hard to accomplish - i was the master of all i surveyed, and it was a power that i drew into the beauty of the written word.
tonight, however, i feel empty and useless. Those days of beauty, light, and colour have been replaced by a meaningless grey, drab existence whereby everything is the same, nothing changes, and there is no inspiration to draw upon anymore. I used to write letters to everyone. I used to feel connected to eeverything and that nothing in this world could take that feeling away from me....
... but you know what, i was wrong. Because you have taken from me my last shred of human dignity and hold it so far from me that i am no longer even sure whether or not i ever really had it to begin with. This life is nothing but a sham that pretends that it is reality. And if this is what 'reality' has to offer me, then i want to take the blue pill and forget that it even exists, because it is too much to cope with, too disruptive, and feels me with a sense of grief that i have never felt before.
In some ways it would be better if you had died, because at least then the insiration would return to me, and i would have some sense of finition. It would have come to its untimely conclusion, and i could live out the normal grieving period in the usual grieving way. Nothing is worse than grieving for someone for years on end because that person refuses to acknowledge that the flesh and bones she herself created.
I used to write about all different things. Now i just write about you.
When i was younger i used to write poetry. I used to write stories to my friends, and romance my lovers with lyrics. I could paint the world a thousand different colours with the stroke of my pen, and dazzle even the sun itself. Nothing was too hard to accomplish - i was the master of all i surveyed, and it was a power that i drew into the beauty of the written word.
tonight, however, i feel empty and useless. Those days of beauty, light, and colour have been replaced by a meaningless grey, drab existence whereby everything is the same, nothing changes, and there is no inspiration to draw upon anymore. I used to write letters to everyone. I used to feel connected to eeverything and that nothing in this world could take that feeling away from me....
... but you know what, i was wrong. Because you have taken from me my last shred of human dignity and hold it so far from me that i am no longer even sure whether or not i ever really had it to begin with. This life is nothing but a sham that pretends that it is reality. And if this is what 'reality' has to offer me, then i want to take the blue pill and forget that it even exists, because it is too much to cope with, too disruptive, and feels me with a sense of grief that i have never felt before.
In some ways it would be better if you had died, because at least then the insiration would return to me, and i would have some sense of finition. It would have come to its untimely conclusion, and i could live out the normal grieving period in the usual grieving way. Nothing is worse than grieving for someone for years on end because that person refuses to acknowledge that the flesh and bones she herself created.
I used to write about all different things. Now i just write about you.
