Nerve Kurl
Eyes of polished amber, hair swept like a comet's tail.
White swan feathers fluttered from her ivory bridal gown.
I am happy for you, I am proud of you.
I will never be as great as you, nor as successful as you.
I looked up to you my entire life.
Ribbons adorn your breast while mine is bare.
I really blame myself. I always have. I never committed myself to anything, it doesn't surprise me I have amounted to nothing. Jack of all trades, I suppose, but master of none. I have a decent gig, HVAC/R systems engineering. It's not what I aspired to do, but I do it with passable mediocrity. Isn't that the name of the game? Survive until you don't.
There's a feeling of anxiety about it though. I feel like something is coming and I don't particularly like what it could be. I never thought I'd be here, in any aspect. Sitting on a toilet at midnight in a drab modular home in the foothills of Colorado, sucking down cigarette after cigarette, listening to ambient trance while my cat sits on my legs, content in her proximity to me. At least there's that.
I still come back to that one random thought. What if. All the what ifs. And should have beens. And would have beens. And all that could have been. Only one person knows what that stanza could lead to, and I doubt they know of this journal. And if they did, they certainly wouldn't give six fucks to keep tabs on me anymore.
To anyone else who may continue to read this...whatever is spilling from my fingers, thanks. For at least giving a passing nod to what has surely become a stranger by now.
The more I stay in here, the more it's not so clear.
But now I'm not so sure, the line begins to blur.
I'm okay. While I'm still here.
White swan feathers fluttered from her ivory bridal gown.
I am happy for you, I am proud of you.
I will never be as great as you, nor as successful as you.
I looked up to you my entire life.
Ribbons adorn your breast while mine is bare.
I really blame myself. I always have. I never committed myself to anything, it doesn't surprise me I have amounted to nothing. Jack of all trades, I suppose, but master of none. I have a decent gig, HVAC/R systems engineering. It's not what I aspired to do, but I do it with passable mediocrity. Isn't that the name of the game? Survive until you don't.
There's a feeling of anxiety about it though. I feel like something is coming and I don't particularly like what it could be. I never thought I'd be here, in any aspect. Sitting on a toilet at midnight in a drab modular home in the foothills of Colorado, sucking down cigarette after cigarette, listening to ambient trance while my cat sits on my legs, content in her proximity to me. At least there's that.
I still come back to that one random thought. What if. All the what ifs. And should have beens. And would have beens. And all that could have been. Only one person knows what that stanza could lead to, and I doubt they know of this journal. And if they did, they certainly wouldn't give six fucks to keep tabs on me anymore.
To anyone else who may continue to read this...whatever is spilling from my fingers, thanks. For at least giving a passing nod to what has surely become a stranger by now.
The more I stay in here, the more it's not so clear.
But now I'm not so sure, the line begins to blur.
I'm okay. While I'm still here.