these empty metaphors / they're all in vain
Having lost to time makes everything a little trickier than ever.
Perhaps, what's ironic about all this is the fact that
not everyone gets a chance at challenging time.
I watched the minute hand of the clock tick away,
but who am I really kidding, I go by digital time.
So what's with all these empty words anyway. What do I know?
Sometimes it feels like there are words stuck right smack in the middle of my throat--
I suspect they are either trying desperately to get out of my internal system,
or, more possibly,
trying to move quickly towards my stomach where
they can slowly disintegrate amongst the acids of my body and
disappear.
I still can't quite figure out if the great writers of all time write well because they are depressed,
or is it because of the fact that they write so much it makes them so in touch with/sensitive to their dark side,
or whatever lame expressions I may insert here like deep ends of one's soul and all that bull
and so they write better, simply because it's expressive.
(One can be funny-expressive. No?)
I understand that sadness could bring about enough cause or inspiration for one to write,
but sometimes writing just does not do; and sadness, depression, or what have you's,
should not be the sole reason for writing.
And I think people should acknowledge that.
Someone enlighten me on this matter please?
Thank you.
I was told growing up that you reap what you sow,
and I might have encountered various moments in my life when yeah,
maybe that saying holds true.
But more often than not,
it does not seem to be the case.
I suspect I subscribe by the reward system of
Instant Gratification.
Maybe that saying should be taught together with the
value of Patience,
and how everything comes back to you in ways
you least expect.
Is that Karma?
So on a completely random note,
(As if whatever I'd just typed was of certain purpose.)
you could be a bar of dark chocolate--
Bittersweet,
but sweet nonetheless.
Perhaps, what's ironic about all this is the fact that
not everyone gets a chance at challenging time.
I watched the minute hand of the clock tick away,
but who am I really kidding, I go by digital time.
So what's with all these empty words anyway. What do I know?
Sometimes it feels like there are words stuck right smack in the middle of my throat--
I suspect they are either trying desperately to get out of my internal system,
or, more possibly,
trying to move quickly towards my stomach where
they can slowly disintegrate amongst the acids of my body and
disappear.
I still can't quite figure out if the great writers of all time write well because they are depressed,
or is it because of the fact that they write so much it makes them so in touch with/sensitive to their dark side,
or whatever lame expressions I may insert here like deep ends of one's soul and all that bull
and so they write better, simply because it's expressive.
(One can be funny-expressive. No?)
I understand that sadness could bring about enough cause or inspiration for one to write,
but sometimes writing just does not do; and sadness, depression, or what have you's,
should not be the sole reason for writing.
And I think people should acknowledge that.
Someone enlighten me on this matter please?
Thank you.
I was told growing up that you reap what you sow,
and I might have encountered various moments in my life when yeah,
maybe that saying holds true.
But more often than not,
it does not seem to be the case.
I suspect I subscribe by the reward system of
Instant Gratification.
Maybe that saying should be taught together with the
value of Patience,
and how everything comes back to you in ways
you least expect.
Is that Karma?
So on a completely random note,
(As if whatever I'd just typed was of certain purpose.)
you could be a bar of dark chocolate--
Bittersweet,
but sweet nonetheless.