Walls blocking bridges.

Sitting, straying, praying

for something..

I know I should be thankful, and this I am--- but am not being.

Old patterns die hard, truly. But where did it start and where am i going?

-------

My hand grabs the pavement, a raw grip tearing at cement.
A hole, in there, in this child somewhere. Behind a sort of barrier only kind minds admire.

C'mon, put a little sugar in this cup-- pleading with me, myself and everyone.

give us some love, and i will stir the dust.

--------

I never was one to hold onto friendships.. or is it the glue never sticks to me or any i want to be?

In ways i give up, surrender to hermits delight of seclusion and unrequite. Resenting myself after even saying.

Assuming i suck always, and none give a fuck enough. Thats fine cuz neither do i. Probably why I am where I am-- lost in some retarded made up land.

------

I want to save everyone, because maybe within this someone will save me.. or I will figure out how to save myself. I say this loosely, in the broadest terminology.

Or is it when another's broken-- I let my own guard down, enough to put a drop of heart in their tin mug? Most likely.

I am kind out of being generous with my happiness. Though I have to be honest with myself, unconsciously I do expect this in return--- /me mutters the golden rule.

But looking back, there is a balance to it all. I've gotten this far on my own dumb luck and the brief entrance of charity from others. Be unknown to me is why I fail to feel appeased? At peace?

Is it idealic remnants that once stood like the Parthenon, archaic strands of a golden age passed?

----

If only my walls could talk. Or if only I could listen.
 
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