Living…
Living day to day can be intricate, woven, and deep. Living can be an escape from reality. Living can show you how human you really are. Living can really just….hurt.
I don’t mean to escape, yet I do. I don’t mean to run, but yet, I do. I’ve been here before. Just like last time, I took the same path. I know I’ll do it again. Pray for me child, just for a while, then maybe I might,….just…..break….out. This shell is making me all alone again. I’m crawling slowly back to the podium in my mind. The podium that is looked down on; repeatedly I claim the top. You can claim the prize every time, but I still have me to be my friend. My enemy. My rival. My mind’s illusion of a safe haven. Living this way can hurt.
If I’ve been here before. If I’ve sat here before. If I’ve praised here before. Why can’t I find the way out. Why can’t I make my way back. Can’t take the pain back. Desolate the same way I’ve done before. I stay up all night. I know what I’ve denied. I stay up all night, and all I can write, is the same…..old….tune. I am all alone again. I’m stuck in the same skit again. But I still got me to keep me warm. Living this way can hurt.
If I could dream out loud. I could speak out again. If I could even dream again. I would be able to live again. My darkness is deluding me to the same….old….path again. Even if I scream to you to save me, I can’t seem to scream that…..loud. My voice escapes me. My mind slaves me. I’m up all the night, making the same empty score….again. If I still have you to be my home, I’d want to come home. If I still have you to cross the river with, I’d want you to be my bridge. I’ve seen the sincere pain. Many of times, to many times. If I still have you to be my open door. I need to come in. I need to whisper my reason with you. I need to believe in something. Living this way can hurt.
Emotion…
Possessing the courage to relieve yourself from emotion is not always a embodiment that you wish to have. Emotions make you real. Emotions show that you feel. I’ve been here before. This great, great room. I’ve realized this so many times before. I’ve been the guide of this great, great play. I’ve been the fool. They pull the curtains on my heart to stop the flood. Even the emotions spewing beneath the ruffles are caught with drains and poured out in the alley no one will ever see, but I know where it is. I’ve seen it. Emotions have died there many times. They cry where no one can see them. They die where no one can judge them. They have pride where they should have passion.
I’ve sought this rail before. The guide has never proven to be a fact. Nor has it proven fiction. I’ve been thrown amiss by seething kettles of life, quality, and adoration. Temples have opened for me, only to have a maze that make the persistent weak. Weak, not from lack of strength to pursue. But weak from the power to realize when to stop. When to stop feeling this pride to continue.
Triumphed by to much emotion was the cause. The effect was yet to be seen. You could feel it though. It was a shaky feeling. It was a demanding feeling. It was a tumultuous walk through the most serene sandy shore. It was a clamor that moved oceans but couldn’t be felt by any human heart. To force a feeling was slightly vague. To produce an emotion was the meaning. To create an ease, was not what happened. I detested your demand, with no emotion at all. It’s my distorted strength. Once again, I scream, but I can’t scream…..that…..loud. I’m stuck in my song again. The chorus repeats itself once more. I’m waiting for the bridge. The bridge is what makes every song worth it to me. You spill your life, your love, your reason with the verses. You slosh the urn with the chorus. But the bridge is what releases the dam. This flood of emotion is felt like an earthquake released with the power of love, and the strength of reason, and the prowess of soul.
You see the tears of men running down cheeks. Running so swift, with each blink they’re batted away so no one will see, nor admit. It’s a great, great mood. I’ve seen it before. I’ve batted tears with your memory. I’ve provoked numberless emotions, alone. This struggle is simple, yet so far unsolvable.
This is my migraine. My migrant emotion is shown at all the wrong times. My soul is struggling with my heart for that reason. My reason is struggling with my eyes to see what needs to be mended. I need to be warmer than warm air. I miss my emotion.
I’ve confused myself many times with those that are intelligible and aristocratic. I’ve compared myself to demons and angels of every race and doggerel. I’ve realized my quandaries, but have failed to exercise the reason to cure them. I still need this light that I can see through the open door. I will defeat this.
I will amaze the soul. I will understand reason.
Interested in changing the world.