Chains of pain and misery - heavy of heart, palpating, subjugated. My soul yoked to an earthly body that no longer serves a purpose, other than to exist. A much older version of my once youthful self, I persist; hopeful that circumstance will change. Hanging on to what might’ve, could’ve, would’ve, and should’ve been. Longing for salvation from an aging, pain wracked- a tortured existence. Touché, Karma- what a bitch- it hits hard; payback for a wayward teen who wanted to run away from it all. To run away from all who want to tell you what to do.
A fraction of my former self- remains, buried deep within exquisite memories- lies, all lies; my life was never quite exquisite. There were a few pleasant days and pleasurable events destroyed by hellish
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Would a bomb drop out of the sky and end this complete an utter misery that plagued me…
I do not pretend to be rid of the darkness- I am not able; it has become a part of me. At times, I let the darkness consume my mind and dictate my thoughts. My obscurity- that of being one in many that are suffering the same change of venue is easily accepted. Time marches on- no one can stop what is happening… not even God it seems.
Worrying a colorful image of an unchangeable past is an ominous blurry vision of the present; my heart and mind is in a constant state of fluctuation and confusion… occasional clarity of thought lends a coherent method of management of life.
Of what the future holds, no one knows exactly. And, without verbalizing exactly what keeps plaguing my thoughts, I cannot be true to myself. I know that it will be neigh-on impossible to stop the progression of my thoughts from light to dark, to darkest dark. It’s as if they come and stand over my shoulder, dictating what they want me to think and feel and put forth onto
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Another year has passed and here I am in the same predicament that I always find myself in when I take stock of reality. The many things I intended to do and never got around to are still waiting for me to finish them; they’ll continue to wait until I either get to them or I don’t. How is it that old saying goes - time waits on no one… It doesn’t - it can’t. Time marches to its own beat- tick tock, tick tock - take stock, take stock…
Desiring something, but not working toward it is called laziness - self depravation is more like it. Depriving one’s self of what could be or might have been because reality sucks dinosaur dicks and it actually takes several cups of sugar to turn lemons into lemonade.
I still haven’t written that great American novel- I haven’t even finished those I’ve started and at present, they number at least five - If the clock doesn’t slow down, I may find myself this time next year, sitting in the same obscure cubbyhole doing the same thing I’m doing now, which is piddling around- look up procrastinate in the dictionary and you’ll see my name printed next to it. However, the fact of the matter is - I desire to remain obscure, secure in my self-indulged pity and wallowing in the pigsty of a world that I’ve created in my mind… But, it’s alright - they know me