(no subject)
Sometimes I wake up in the morning and laugh at myself.. laugh at how I closed my eyes and fell asleep to the beating of my heart, and shut my ears to the pounding of your hand. Excuses are spent and overused. I'm tired of running, of walking, of moving at all in a way that ties me closer and closer to the ground that i tread. I'm looking and searching in all the wrong places, in states of mind and body that ought to be left alone. How easily apathy comes to the mind that is left wandering. I cannot claim ignorance, lest I slap the face that always looked on me in love, nor can I claim weakness for I would blaspheme the bruises that saved my sould... No, it is all my own. The pain and the toil, the mental struggle between apathy and work, I bring it on myself. I say it with a smile and a twinkle in my eye, for I know that I will not be this way for long. The hour is coming when I will laugh at the wind and close my hand to the empty longings of my heart. Keep back your hands, for I approach with a white glove, ready to wipe away that wretchedness so deep and soiled, he will say... and it will be ever grand.