It is coming. And I can’t stop it. And I won’t run. And for once I won’t run.
It’s a thing. Some kind of thing. This thing that melts the brain, that paralyzes the action, that cements me in the ground, keeping me from moving. It’s that kind of thing that trumps persistence, that feeds anxiety, that grows in to something bigger than itself. From the droplets of the mind come the river of some sort of despair that washes in to an ocean of regret.
Regret. Wet. Drenched with regret. To see a fallen city. Never feels good. That’s about the time that you know to honestly reevaluate. And yet I keep passing out. They wake me up and something else has changed. And yet I can’t take the time machine. The beautiful city is no more. The promise it once held, yeah, crushed, honestly, demolished, a wrecking ball.
Was it a full moon? I wake up with my clothes ripped, the metaphorical, imaginative, figurative blood spattered all over this skin. Did I turn in to the wolf that night? The sheep comes the next day, and I count myself. All the way until I pass out.
So what keeps me going, and what honestly hurts me, is the ability to know everything is going to be okay. However, that creates a monster, an overestimation of the human race, of persons. I understand I can’t go through life just ignoring the bombs I set off. Destruction and mayhem. I can’t just turn my back and think the city is going to rebuild itself.
Not everyone, not many are like me. But then I too hold grudges and hold on to emotions. But then when the clock strikes midnight, I turn it on, out comes the A Game. Sometimes it’s not enough. But the ability to persist past the threshold of heavy pain, that’s what keeps me going.
Anything can happen…and I know it’s going to be alright.
You, I wish I could open you
Like a book whose pages need to
Be read between the lines,
That needed to be underlined,
Caressed and re-read,
All over and over again.
I would scan your index
Searching for the letter G,
Knowing that when found
Would cause a resounding sound,
To escape from your Contents.
And then I would take it all in,
I would take in that scent and
Work my way down your spine,
Feeling the weathered bones
I wished to make mine. You would
Shudder and spill out your knowledge,
It would run down the pages and in to
My head so that I may have divine
Inspiration that could always be said.
Oh how I miss the rising action
Of your paragraphs of love,
Of your chapters of flesh,
Of all that our introductions had to offer.
Oh how I miss the way your body
Would quake after the climax,
Would come to a conclusion
And end resting on my prologue.
I would put the story away
Until I realized that it was just
Too damn good to put down,
Thus reaching out for you once more,
Opening you up and starting
All over again. Retracing your table
Of contents, looking to see if I missed
Any conflicts, or any development in motion.
And thus we’d do it all again,
Until I hit that high note,
Until we were satisfied,
Until we could be like,
“Damn, now that was a good ending.”
Why are you holding on?
If I go up to any single one of my friends and ask them that question, I have this good feeling an image, a person, a belief will pop in to their head. Perhaps the shock will be the initial, perhaps a “What do you mean?” will follow. However, I honestly believe everyone’s holding on to something, and that specific something manifests the second I asked that question.
Now really think about it. Why are you holding on? Benefits. Negatives. Feelings. Something, some reason lies there. While one denies, another one cries. Perhaps some hold on until they reach that clarification, perhaps others because those red strings are too damn strong. Connected at the heart, we can’t just move on. An empty mind, another reason to stay sedentary in The Waiting Place.
Even when we say it out loud. No no, I am passed all of that. We can’t be completely honest can we? Whereas another may write it out to the world, constantly post over and over about how their heart is gone or with another. It doesn’t really make sense to me. Back and forth these people must go in their brain. It must hurt so much to constantly be in love with someone that doesn’t love you back. Especially if they don’t even hold you near their burning flame anymore.
But enough of how they feel. Enough of how you feel. My blog, my post, what do I feel? Am I holding on to something? I do. I am. I hold on to ideas, I hold on to intangible competitions, I hold on to dying horses and dead weights. I try to keep it all on my back, all without looking back. And why is it I hold on? It’s believe I can make something out of nothing. I can create gold from lead, as if I have the formula for the universe.
Necessity draws us all closer to letting go. But the final push is not through necessity, no it is through desire. Once we get over that chain though, once we finally break it off, it always seems as though another one starts to form. It’s just that this time, you don’t want it to become a burden once more.
"If we get older now, THESE ARE THE DAYS THAT WE’LL TALK ABOUT"–These Are The Days
"Every Tumblr varies in commitment. We all like shit. We all reblog shit. But how much of that shit do we actually fucking follow."–Me.