(no subject)
I'm failing to see the point in some things.
I want to just turn out the lights and sneak away under cover of darkness, leave the world behind and drive off into a land undiscovered which I can make my own... giggle at my own little secrets... hide from the beasties and make love to the night.
I'm not even sure lately that I'm actually here, has the last year or so been some extended dream sequence? Can never pinch myself hard enough to be convinced otherwise.
I feel my warrior poet slowly slipping out of existence, fading away, crying out to me but I'm so distracted by meaningless junk that I can't even recognize the voice anymore and I seem to hear just a distant whisper of memory, a remnant from an Arien childhood. To which the poet asks, "what the fuck happened?"
I want to just turn out the lights and sneak away under cover of darkness, leave the world behind and drive off into a land undiscovered which I can make my own... giggle at my own little secrets... hide from the beasties and make love to the night.
I'm not even sure lately that I'm actually here, has the last year or so been some extended dream sequence? Can never pinch myself hard enough to be convinced otherwise.
I feel my warrior poet slowly slipping out of existence, fading away, crying out to me but I'm so distracted by meaningless junk that I can't even recognize the voice anymore and I seem to hear just a distant whisper of memory, a remnant from an Arien childhood. To which the poet asks, "what the fuck happened?"