(no subject)
maybe it's just that time of the year for me, but i'm more humbled than i usually am. it's been six years now, five years or two depending on those who know which histories i am referring to. i am burdened by the weight of acknowledging the things that have come to pass, the persistence of schemas that should't exist with more controlled thought, and to dig for hope for things i'll never act on. it's as if this pressure bearing down on my chest is not seasonally affected asthma,
it's that time of year where i realize i'm a bit broken and my spirit's been knocked around more than i care to admit. and yet AND YET i fail to accept that and let the wound fester. i'll be twenty four next month. isn't it about fucking time i turned away from the wet nurse of despair and the lazy doldrums of fear of things that have come to pass only to return? is it really that easy to stop picking at that scab, to stop reopening the sutures? it should be, i just need to remember how.
slide they say. which way? when? maybe eliot was right. the way up and the way down ARE one and the same.
hi high-school diatribes. when'd you come back?
it's that time of year where i realize i'm a bit broken and my spirit's been knocked around more than i care to admit. and yet AND YET i fail to accept that and let the wound fester. i'll be twenty four next month. isn't it about fucking time i turned away from the wet nurse of despair and the lazy doldrums of fear of things that have come to pass only to return? is it really that easy to stop picking at that scab, to stop reopening the sutures? it should be, i just need to remember how.
slide they say. which way? when? maybe eliot was right. the way up and the way down ARE one and the same.
hi high-school diatribes. when'd you come back?