eighty two
Knowledge is the essence of life, so let me drop a wisdom bomb on you for just a second.
Forty eight hours ago I learned what my life should never become. I also found out that I have absolutely no control over myself at pretty much any moment in time. I say things I don't mean, I say things I think I don't mean but really do, and I never wear a belt. I flaunt what I wish I had, I flaunt what I wish I didn't. My cerebral cortex is running laps around my cranium, I'm dizzy.
Twenty eight hours ago I found out how it feels to walk in another man's shoes. A man without shoes to be more precise. My toes connected with the mud and a babbling brook that whispered my name as I waded through it. I ran and ran and ran, and my lungs just begged for more. I tasted and felt and asked for more while my eyes closed in the warmth of your room. I got lost and found myself, just to forget where I was again. I saw places I knew but they all seemed untouched and unfamiliar. I was scared and comfortable, but you didn't look the same. Hesitant to look at the shadow of your face, I kept my eyes glued to the floor, a feeling I am all too familiar with. I cannot step out of the box, I trapped myself in. Is it more that I want, or is this the way it should be?
Eight hours ago I found myself stopped, in front of two paths. Robert Frost and I had a talk, but we seem to disagree. Path number three is simply a hole in space, a worm-hole I have yet to create. Nothing catastrophic enough has caused such a disturbance but I'm willing to bet the change in my pocket that it won't be long. I can feel the wave's crest, the train's engine rolling, the distant smell of autumn, and the taste of freedom on the tip of my tongue and the edges of my teeth.
Skin and bones, muscle and tissue, layers of the body. Eloquently shaped and graphed, blue prints erased and re-drawn. I am nothing but the pit, the seed to my growth.
Forty eight hours ago I learned what my life should never become. I also found out that I have absolutely no control over myself at pretty much any moment in time. I say things I don't mean, I say things I think I don't mean but really do, and I never wear a belt. I flaunt what I wish I had, I flaunt what I wish I didn't. My cerebral cortex is running laps around my cranium, I'm dizzy.
Twenty eight hours ago I found out how it feels to walk in another man's shoes. A man without shoes to be more precise. My toes connected with the mud and a babbling brook that whispered my name as I waded through it. I ran and ran and ran, and my lungs just begged for more. I tasted and felt and asked for more while my eyes closed in the warmth of your room. I got lost and found myself, just to forget where I was again. I saw places I knew but they all seemed untouched and unfamiliar. I was scared and comfortable, but you didn't look the same. Hesitant to look at the shadow of your face, I kept my eyes glued to the floor, a feeling I am all too familiar with. I cannot step out of the box, I trapped myself in. Is it more that I want, or is this the way it should be?
Eight hours ago I found myself stopped, in front of two paths. Robert Frost and I had a talk, but we seem to disagree. Path number three is simply a hole in space, a worm-hole I have yet to create. Nothing catastrophic enough has caused such a disturbance but I'm willing to bet the change in my pocket that it won't be long. I can feel the wave's crest, the train's engine rolling, the distant smell of autumn, and the taste of freedom on the tip of my tongue and the edges of my teeth.
Skin and bones, muscle and tissue, layers of the body. Eloquently shaped and graphed, blue prints erased and re-drawn. I am nothing but the pit, the seed to my growth.