well now
im just sitting here eating my life cereal contemplating the meaning of life...where am i going? Am I doing the right things? well nvm that one, we all kno thats a ...no. But what can I do to fix it. All the things I play myself out to be reminds me of msoa...I mean...I feel myself living this parody, this illusion that remains a figment of my aimless imagination-and its entraping me..engulfing me to no avail. And now I'm stuck. I thought I had something going that would make my life easier..but um...guess what? Once again the "I told you so"s are echoing in the back of my mind. Once again I realize that I am no longer just surrrounded by liars, but that I have become one. I am the person that I've grown up hating my whole life. I have become a spitting image of my enemy.
I want to apologize to everyone for the foolish way I've been acting. Any promises of the latter are still to be withheld if I say so, but if not, then don't worry, a promise is a promise. You know I really hate these journals...there are days where I just want to talk directly to one person, or just to a group of ppl...then there are days where I just want to talk to myself...but I feel that I can't reveal names, dates, places, ect..because I would be hurting only myself. I have to go to skool...so...with that I'll leave you with a poem I wrote:
Im standing quietly; discretely. Translucent in sunless air. I am a pallid light, struggling against opaque intricate flows of nothingness, submerged in an elegant numbness so profound, it's ground into me like dust that never settles.The stillness has nothing more than a pale sympathy to offer. An endless indistinct nullity, indifferent to my suffering. Isolation displays an extravagant rhythmic grace. a certain purity and purpose in its stoic elaborations: leaving something of a ghost in its wake. I am the final silence, a nebulous stone effigy sustained by fragments of memories; dining on shaded echoes of thoughts others want to forget. Discarded, dislocated moments with no connection to anyone- they nourish with little there is left of me. I am synthetic, artificial. Blown about like paper. Only experiencing love through proxy. Stealing touches meant for others.I have no one to cherish as my world dissolves around me. I will die, and when I die, it will be in the manner in which I've lived. With my regrets sundering into frail faded whispers.
I want to apologize to everyone for the foolish way I've been acting. Any promises of the latter are still to be withheld if I say so, but if not, then don't worry, a promise is a promise. You know I really hate these journals...there are days where I just want to talk directly to one person, or just to a group of ppl...then there are days where I just want to talk to myself...but I feel that I can't reveal names, dates, places, ect..because I would be hurting only myself. I have to go to skool...so...with that I'll leave you with a poem I wrote:
Im standing quietly; discretely. Translucent in sunless air. I am a pallid light, struggling against opaque intricate flows of nothingness, submerged in an elegant numbness so profound, it's ground into me like dust that never settles.The stillness has nothing more than a pale sympathy to offer. An endless indistinct nullity, indifferent to my suffering. Isolation displays an extravagant rhythmic grace. a certain purity and purpose in its stoic elaborations: leaving something of a ghost in its wake. I am the final silence, a nebulous stone effigy sustained by fragments of memories; dining on shaded echoes of thoughts others want to forget. Discarded, dislocated moments with no connection to anyone- they nourish with little there is left of me. I am synthetic, artificial. Blown about like paper. Only experiencing love through proxy. Stealing touches meant for others.I have no one to cherish as my world dissolves around me. I will die, and when I die, it will be in the manner in which I've lived. With my regrets sundering into frail faded whispers.