What have I done to be worthy?
There's a spot that's only mine. A meeting place of all my fears, my hopes and my indifference. I lean against the railing of a dark, twisting bridge. Both ends are far out of sight, as if the entirety of myself lives here. Below, I can see how violently the waves hit. I can smell salty, yet serene, air. Looking down on everything... it's the place where I can talk to myself, alone.
All we do is speak of meaningless things, me and myself. Things that have no conclusion, speculations that are endless and unsealable. It's a place where I can think of all those who probably don't think about me anymore. A place where every memory still breathes, no matter how long it has ceased to exist.
It's in that place that I can calm myself. There, I realize that I'm wholly sedated; devoid of stance or opinion.It's the place we return to to figure out what we want in life, to heed the call of the soul, because it aches for something real. And... I don't really know what is real anymore. It's too hard to classify, impossible to verify. The voice, the pull that tells me what I need on a basic level... is gone. It's taken me a long time to realize how lost I am without it. There's no survival instinct, no biological motivation. I'm convinced that if I wanted to die, I could will it, as morbid as it sounds. But in those hair-thin moments where I thought that death was coming... I panicked to hold on.
I expel much darkness, but that has never meant a surrender of the will to live. Rather, it's in this explosive catharsis that I am slowly justified. The demons of behavior, of thought and reaction... they've been growing for as long as I can remember. It doesn't help that I have been wrecked so many times... it's how I'm meant to learn. I can be so morose, so undeniably jaded because I know what real beauty is... and it's never been here.
I have too much energy pouring over. I feel like something ominous is spreading....
I hate the two poles inside of me. They make everything seem so circular... like the same disaster is happening all over again.
All we do is speak of meaningless things, me and myself. Things that have no conclusion, speculations that are endless and unsealable. It's a place where I can think of all those who probably don't think about me anymore. A place where every memory still breathes, no matter how long it has ceased to exist.
It's in that place that I can calm myself. There, I realize that I'm wholly sedated; devoid of stance or opinion.It's the place we return to to figure out what we want in life, to heed the call of the soul, because it aches for something real. And... I don't really know what is real anymore. It's too hard to classify, impossible to verify. The voice, the pull that tells me what I need on a basic level... is gone. It's taken me a long time to realize how lost I am without it. There's no survival instinct, no biological motivation. I'm convinced that if I wanted to die, I could will it, as morbid as it sounds. But in those hair-thin moments where I thought that death was coming... I panicked to hold on.
I expel much darkness, but that has never meant a surrender of the will to live. Rather, it's in this explosive catharsis that I am slowly justified. The demons of behavior, of thought and reaction... they've been growing for as long as I can remember. It doesn't help that I have been wrecked so many times... it's how I'm meant to learn. I can be so morose, so undeniably jaded because I know what real beauty is... and it's never been here.
I have too much energy pouring over. I feel like something ominous is spreading....
I hate the two poles inside of me. They make everything seem so circular... like the same disaster is happening all over again.
posted by Anonymous at 12:36 AM
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