Protection
I wonder what it would be like.
Never imagined I’d of found my way here, now that I’m aware I have I seem … indisposed make no stand one way or the other. Right now, at this moment; I’m honestly not even sure what I’m talking about.
Sometimes I feel like it’s all been done before, there’s nothing new out there. How can that possible be? Why would I think that, I did; In that I must believe it to some degree?
That realization makes me sad. Sorrow as a feeling however, do I even truly know it? Have I ever felt regret, or only shame; whatever the label I’ve never been anything but a walking contradiction, and even in the best of times an accident waiting to happen to someone.
I’ve truly never met an innocent bystander.
Sometimes I feel like everyone around me is subject to my corruption, lascivious desires and infectious yet often inspiring beliefs. Am I meant to make anyone better? If given the chance would I prevail?
What makes me try so hard?
What is that urge that undeniably piercing siren that pulls me forward, forcing me through foe and faux sentiment, uneven position tumbling in to the next… never really falling but always struggling for a footing. Why is it that under any pressure or pain I endure, self perpetuate.
He wishes for the cloths of heaven
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.
-- William Butler Yeats
Sometimes I really have to wonder, is it me or am I reciting memorized lines?
Never imagined I’d of found my way here, now that I’m aware I have I seem … indisposed make no stand one way or the other. Right now, at this moment; I’m honestly not even sure what I’m talking about.
Sometimes I feel like it’s all been done before, there’s nothing new out there. How can that possible be? Why would I think that, I did; In that I must believe it to some degree?
That realization makes me sad. Sorrow as a feeling however, do I even truly know it? Have I ever felt regret, or only shame; whatever the label I’ve never been anything but a walking contradiction, and even in the best of times an accident waiting to happen to someone.
I’ve truly never met an innocent bystander.
Sometimes I feel like everyone around me is subject to my corruption, lascivious desires and infectious yet often inspiring beliefs. Am I meant to make anyone better? If given the chance would I prevail?
What makes me try so hard?
What is that urge that undeniably piercing siren that pulls me forward, forcing me through foe and faux sentiment, uneven position tumbling in to the next… never really falling but always struggling for a footing. Why is it that under any pressure or pain I endure, self perpetuate.
He wishes for the cloths of heaven
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.
-- William Butler Yeats
Sometimes I really have to wonder, is it me or am I reciting memorized lines?