where the power comes from
at some point i need to ask myself: what exactly is it i'm holding on to, and what exactly do i want.
am i holding on to the things that send me into the right direction; into the setting sun as a ride off on my horsey? why am i clinging to little pieces of drift wood instead of letting go and taking the chance to swim toward shore? what is it that i want so badly from these things that are gone?
ultimately, i'm a destroyer. i leave a wake of wreckage everywhere i go. i cut myself up, and curse the world for making me do it. i hold the world accountable for all its actions, and i have an excuse for all of mine.
i am holding on to nothing... little strands of hair, and scraps of paper. i cling to the leftover crap no one in their right mind would ever want. i'm a garbage collector. i surround myself with all that is useless, and i move in aimless circles hoping to bump into something that will keep me busy long enough to forget about where i'm going... nowhere. and when that something is gone, when it proves itself useless to me... i wrap it up my little turd in a silk cloth and put it in my pocket for later. you never know when a piece of shit will come in handy.
i don't think i want to do that anymore. i don't think i want to cling to useless shit, and rub my scar tissue. i don't think i want to do anything anymore except find my place. i don't care if i ever get published, or wealthy, or famous, or married, or even stagnant. i just want to know that where i am is exactly where i am supposed to be. no. i don't want to know it, i want to feel it. i want to feel confident. i want to feel sure of myself for once.
i'm tired of guessing, and i'm tired of spending all my time hurting when in the end, it will all be null and void anyway. when i die, and i return to the place i came from, none of what i did will matter. why let it tear me up? why let it have any power at all... it's like being afraid of the dark... it can't hurt me. it's all in my head.
if i could just get my brain and my guts to work together for a little bit.
if i could just maintain a state of true apathy, then it wouldn't matter. nothing matters, and that's a good thing. because if it doesn't matter then the pain is trivial, and the mistakes aren't really mistakes at all. it's just me being me until i stop doing that, and then it's done.
the end.
am i holding on to the things that send me into the right direction; into the setting sun as a ride off on my horsey? why am i clinging to little pieces of drift wood instead of letting go and taking the chance to swim toward shore? what is it that i want so badly from these things that are gone?
ultimately, i'm a destroyer. i leave a wake of wreckage everywhere i go. i cut myself up, and curse the world for making me do it. i hold the world accountable for all its actions, and i have an excuse for all of mine.
i am holding on to nothing... little strands of hair, and scraps of paper. i cling to the leftover crap no one in their right mind would ever want. i'm a garbage collector. i surround myself with all that is useless, and i move in aimless circles hoping to bump into something that will keep me busy long enough to forget about where i'm going... nowhere. and when that something is gone, when it proves itself useless to me... i wrap it up my little turd in a silk cloth and put it in my pocket for later. you never know when a piece of shit will come in handy.
i don't think i want to do that anymore. i don't think i want to cling to useless shit, and rub my scar tissue. i don't think i want to do anything anymore except find my place. i don't care if i ever get published, or wealthy, or famous, or married, or even stagnant. i just want to know that where i am is exactly where i am supposed to be. no. i don't want to know it, i want to feel it. i want to feel confident. i want to feel sure of myself for once.
i'm tired of guessing, and i'm tired of spending all my time hurting when in the end, it will all be null and void anyway. when i die, and i return to the place i came from, none of what i did will matter. why let it tear me up? why let it have any power at all... it's like being afraid of the dark... it can't hurt me. it's all in my head.
if i could just get my brain and my guts to work together for a little bit.
if i could just maintain a state of true apathy, then it wouldn't matter. nothing matters, and that's a good thing. because if it doesn't matter then the pain is trivial, and the mistakes aren't really mistakes at all. it's just me being me until i stop doing that, and then it's done.
the end.