(no subject)
Inside, I scream and scream and scream, because no one can hear me here.
There is a gnome brutally hammering my heart to pieces, hammering away, steady as clockwork.
I'm tired of all this, this worrying, this effort, this trying, this hoping, this endless cycle of falling behind and losing my steps, stumbling behind everyone else because I can focus on the path, the flowers distract me and call me away, but turn into thorns that grasp and hold me behind.
The clock strikes three, and when all is dull and dumb again, I see in the darkened mirror, down that endless hallway, who I truly am. The ugly behind the glamour, shades of pale, dying pink, fading fast into a runny gray. Like water down a old windowpane on a cold dark night, devoid of thunder and lightening, but quiet and sullen, because no one cared.
Or perhaps they cared too much, so I hide. He hides. From those eyes, asking if he's good, if he's well, if he's passed, or if he's failed.
I drawn out the darkness within me once again, a cycle about to start. When will it end? I need to pass go, need to collect my paper hundreds and move on. There is a road before me that I see, but it's all fake, just images, colors, pictures drawn together on a measly weaving frame, old and rotting with age, from lack of use and loss of skill. Clumsy fingers draw together the pictures and piece together the walls of a hall, within which hangs a cold dark mirror reflecting nothing my soul.
I have lost hope, like an arrow shot out into the black sea towards a ghost ship that is not there. I am without direction, God has come again to touch my soul and shatter my path. This was why I swayed from the light of the lamp that Jesus carries. He wants me back, he see within me the hope I claim lost, cannot reach and cannot touch. But each time he touches me, he's force is too great, it shatters the webs I build, the shields I make. And I lose myself again, in the sunlight of his lantern. I lose myself, the moonbeam I follow, the moonbeam I seek. The edges between the sunlight and the moonlight are the shadows that stalk and pounce on me like predators catching the blind prey, a mouse, frantic and lost in the woods, with an owl above, and nothing but cold hard, unforgiving ground below.
Words are an exit, so short, so swift, but pressure will build again, and I shall have to keep purging myself like this, unless something changes again or I break and shatter into a million of little pieces. But the wind has stilled, and my charms are failing. The Craftboat I ride is collapsing, and the river of life threatens to swallow me whole.
poor b**... poor... poor :( I do that too. I just can't keep it in though. -_- I burst outwards and act like a maniac, which I probably am anyways. *snorts to self* Someone crazy enough to commit suicide or kill someone else or break something... that's me.
There is a gnome brutally hammering my heart to pieces, hammering away, steady as clockwork.
I'm tired of all this, this worrying, this effort, this trying, this hoping, this endless cycle of falling behind and losing my steps, stumbling behind everyone else because I can focus on the path, the flowers distract me and call me away, but turn into thorns that grasp and hold me behind.
The clock strikes three, and when all is dull and dumb again, I see in the darkened mirror, down that endless hallway, who I truly am. The ugly behind the glamour, shades of pale, dying pink, fading fast into a runny gray. Like water down a old windowpane on a cold dark night, devoid of thunder and lightening, but quiet and sullen, because no one cared.
Or perhaps they cared too much, so I hide. He hides. From those eyes, asking if he's good, if he's well, if he's passed, or if he's failed.
I drawn out the darkness within me once again, a cycle about to start. When will it end? I need to pass go, need to collect my paper hundreds and move on. There is a road before me that I see, but it's all fake, just images, colors, pictures drawn together on a measly weaving frame, old and rotting with age, from lack of use and loss of skill. Clumsy fingers draw together the pictures and piece together the walls of a hall, within which hangs a cold dark mirror reflecting nothing my soul.
I have lost hope, like an arrow shot out into the black sea towards a ghost ship that is not there. I am without direction, God has come again to touch my soul and shatter my path. This was why I swayed from the light of the lamp that Jesus carries. He wants me back, he see within me the hope I claim lost, cannot reach and cannot touch. But each time he touches me, he's force is too great, it shatters the webs I build, the shields I make. And I lose myself again, in the sunlight of his lantern. I lose myself, the moonbeam I follow, the moonbeam I seek. The edges between the sunlight and the moonlight are the shadows that stalk and pounce on me like predators catching the blind prey, a mouse, frantic and lost in the woods, with an owl above, and nothing but cold hard, unforgiving ground below.
Words are an exit, so short, so swift, but pressure will build again, and I shall have to keep purging myself like this, unless something changes again or I break and shatter into a million of little pieces. But the wind has stilled, and my charms are failing. The Craftboat I ride is collapsing, and the river of life threatens to swallow me whole.
poor b**... poor... poor :( I do that too. I just can't keep it in though. -_- I burst outwards and act like a maniac, which I probably am anyways. *snorts to self* Someone crazy enough to commit suicide or kill someone else or break something... that's me.