Wednesday, October 16, 2002

its times like this when i cant turn it off. when the silence is so deafening that i can do nothing to hush the roar of my own thoughts. and it tears at me. maybe i've been burned too many times. maybe i'm too smart for my own good. maybe i really dont get it and the fact that im so sure that i do is all one of gods sick jokes. and its overwhelming me. like the touch of lead weights and a thousand seas. so why do i carry snapshots of ships and fields and freeways everywhere i go. why do mountains becon me and the sky still mocks me from a safe distance. why does the concept of destruction intrigue me this way. there's nothing more beautiful than a world in flames. and i start looking for poetry in my words that mean nothing. in black and white films. in the sound of a single voice with nothing to help it. simple. pure. is it boring or beautiful. am i at odds with obsession? and why do i fall in love so easy? why is the concept so foreign? and this pen. this pen stunts me. it snuffs out what once wouldnt go away. this is worthless. set sail. the simple life of the sea. the sweet beconing of land. life is worthless without both. without the beacons. and i've been you before. i am so much more, but i'm nothing. and what is love anyway? how does it work.what is the story with infatuation? because i see perfection and you see the mundane. or maybe i just miss it. because you're someones worst enemy. because someone somewhere hates you. but you're too perfect. but you're not. you're more than one person. you're everyone. you're a liar. we all are.