Nothingness the hollow six inches between my ears
She becomes the hypocrite she knows herself to be
It’s not enough
And in this instance
Knowledge did not bring power
Either did experience come with wisdom
Let me crash and burn
For my engine although worn out won’t stop until a crash
The last stop before the cliff edge
Is when I thought I stopped for water
I am her
Her locked in this glass box
So I think I am making progress
But I am locked into place
Sorrow sobs turn into screams that must be swallowed. Tears like rivers that run down my face.
Back straight. Eye open. Pupils dilate to let in that glimmer of lights in the room. You’re alerted to another being’s presence. – It’s just a fly.
“Oh God, I can’t do this’ if I have to fake another smile and hide bags enough that I could crawl into underneath my eyes I would not know what to do. But as I work my mac nc45 into my skin, I am doing the exact opposite of what I planned for a Friday night.
I wish it was as easy as breathing. Wrong for breathing in itself it’s a task that requires energy and involves a bunch of chemical reactions of which I could name but do not have the time. So no it can’t be easy as that.
False hope. Blue Skies grey clouds in a drought does not guarantee rain
And so my heart broke when I took my umbrella
That buzz of the fly that I keep hearing
It’s a cycle. Like my old bike I had when I was 9 years old. The worn rubber tires removed so that the metal frame was left. And every time I rode, I could see traces of where I had been but not where I was going. Not yet. But in that moment been the present and at the same time the future of the past but not been able to predict the next future, unless I keep riding. And the tracks that would ensue. And psychology will tell me hindsight bias means I knew it would happen all along.
But if the past is the only indication I have of my future, and if habits are so hard to break then what hope do I have left?
Let me end on this note; the cross is for my salvation.
Lamentations 3; 21-27