19 10 2011

It got dark early today. The rain started with out notice. Just suddenly the sky was all gray and the air cold, winds changing slightly, whispering, speaking of things to come.

Walking in the rain isn’t so bad, keeping your head down is the trick when umbrella can be found, or you ignore the forecast.

It hasn’t stopped yet. And the wind it still whispers. I don’t know what its saying. Maybe its not saying anything, maybe its just jamming out with it’s voice like Dylan.

One foot in front of the other. That’s how it starts. ‘Suppose how anything starts.

Hot tea to warm my hands.

Breathe. Try, just try to breathe. Some days breathing just doesn’t seem to happen.

Drowning, telling secrets, encased in water. My life, my thoughts, they’re all first sentences followed by a string of flashing images that don’t make much sense to me so I doubt they would ever to you.

But then perhaps there are those more insightful than myself.

My hands ache. From lack of sleep and being overworked. I’ve thought out a thousand stories, essay responses, and planned out thousands upon thousands of drawings in my mind, and they all swirl together. I dive inside my mind, the attic forming slowly, what a cavern.

Some song I hate stirs in my head and drives me to draw that damn smile again. Putting on a face. Smiling, going on, even when it gets dark early.

But now the cold, too?

I’m so lonely.

Part of me thinks answers will found in some foreign land where no one I know is around. But really, isn’t that just the case right here?

So where, are these things inside of me? That peace I feel resides in some distant land out side myself.

I spend too long outside myself looking back. When I look in the mirror, I’m not looking at my body, but looking for who I am. Trying to see it in my eyes. Trying to squeeze out of my pores the things I hate.

Letting myself be, doesn’t seem like an option. Seems too dangerous, too unstable.

 

My long crooked fingers want rest, but what might be my soul needs pouring out.

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