Let's stop pretending friend.
To realize the everlasting truth in life is a daunting task, undertaken only by those with just the right touch of self-loathing, and insanity to trigger the obsessive thought patterns that will in the eventuality of life ring true.
I of course refer to the intricate connections of man.
We are never alone or seperated, what we do, what every last one of us does upsets a chain of events whose ripples move the path of everyone in and out of our radius of conciousness.
So we are not alone in a sense, the horror of this of course is its intensly superficial nature.
We circle our lives around our friends, those whom we know but don't know, and are to afraid to say or do what it is that we truly want, possible rejection is the best editor, loved ones, and the occasional hiccups are immedietly followed by a polished retraction, suitable for the most world-renowed writer.
What are we so afraid of, all wounds heal, we do not remain in a suspended state of pain.
But what am I saying, I am the coward, and the fool, I live my life by the dogma of possible rejection.
I am afraid.
Truthfully what I crave in life is one true connection, one person to see my scars, to read the tread of my life, and know why I come to my conclusions, why I am where I am, and where I will inevetibly go.
This person of course is murdered, I have stashed the weapon and have moved to mexico, gentlefolk, and they'll never find me, well diguesed in my "everything is fine" identity.
In truth I want pain, to be controlled.
On you? I want to know intimitly the tangled stretch of your life, I want to comprehend and understand.
I want your head resting on my shoulder as you navigate for me the trials and tribulations of your troubled existance.
What for or why? It is my nature love, it is my unfettered self.
I of course refer to the intricate connections of man.
We are never alone or seperated, what we do, what every last one of us does upsets a chain of events whose ripples move the path of everyone in and out of our radius of conciousness.
So we are not alone in a sense, the horror of this of course is its intensly superficial nature.
We circle our lives around our friends, those whom we know but don't know, and are to afraid to say or do what it is that we truly want, possible rejection is the best editor, loved ones, and the occasional hiccups are immedietly followed by a polished retraction, suitable for the most world-renowed writer.
What are we so afraid of, all wounds heal, we do not remain in a suspended state of pain.
But what am I saying, I am the coward, and the fool, I live my life by the dogma of possible rejection.
I am afraid.
Truthfully what I crave in life is one true connection, one person to see my scars, to read the tread of my life, and know why I come to my conclusions, why I am where I am, and where I will inevetibly go.
This person of course is murdered, I have stashed the weapon and have moved to mexico, gentlefolk, and they'll never find me, well diguesed in my "everything is fine" identity.
In truth I want pain, to be controlled.
On you? I want to know intimitly the tangled stretch of your life, I want to comprehend and understand.
I want your head resting on my shoulder as you navigate for me the trials and tribulations of your troubled existance.
What for or why? It is my nature love, it is my unfettered self.