Aug 21, 2008 02:41
Hot damn, I feel like writing.... in poetry form.
I am in a dirty shower stall,
the soap is old and drying,
the hot water cools to quickly,
and I feel like I am dying.
The razor blade cuts my legs,
I watch the blood go down the drain.
There is no passion inside of me.
I'm not sure of what remains.
Where once I was driven,
I've lost the drive.
I barely feel like I'm breathing,
let alone feel alive.
But live I do, and I do passively.
Day by day by day,
and I don't accomplish anything.
How'd I get this way?
There's no food on my plate,
and no spark in my eyes.
And every fucking day,
another part of me dies.
My mother looks at me,
and sees wasted potential.
Everyone else looks through me.
Like I am nothing at all.
There is no soul in these words.
Just pathetic droning on a screen.
The words are mostly meaningless.
I'm sorry they must be seen.
Cause I have nothing to say anymore.
I don't have the art in me.
Sometimes I want to die.
Sometimes I want to be free.
Most of the time I not only want to live,
I want to feel alive.
I want to feel a fire burning.
I want to want to strive.
I want to be important,
instead of living in a fantasy.
I want to be impressive again,
I want to feel some clarity.
I want to feel loved.
I want to give and to receive.
I want something to hold on to.
I need something to believe.
But all I have is a dirty shower stall,
and soap that dries and is old.
I stand with my head against the wall.
I let the water turn cold.
Not impressed? Neither am I.
-Julia
lame,
angst,
emo