it’s like picking up another crawling ant of of your body and flicking it way across the horizon. you know you will see the ant again, it will crawl right back. or you will get on your fours and crawl to it. but until then, there is a sense of unsatisfaction. you know, of having known it so well, of picking it up and just throwing it away to join the others thrown similarly, from your insipid life.
but then, let us never forget.
we will meet again, ant. :)
because I have a bad memory but I can’t forget.
there are stubbed candles, somewhere in the ash.
Selfish gits.
There’s a storm up there, in the sky. And a witch of a woman, talks to my face. She breathes down my neck and plays with my hair.
I look her in the eyes. I scream a shallow scream. She does not realize, the reality behind it.
And when the world gets through to you, remember, little girl, the walls don’t like talking only about you.
Yet, I am sure you think there are monsters only under your well-spaced bed.
Anal.
why do we start so early and mingle our thoughts with the dirt? why do we pretend to question everything, from the start? when do we get our ideas? when are we formed into an entity that stands alone by itself?
but isn’t the most important question why? or is questioning enough? there are so many thoughts that I wish I knew the answer to.
but I too am being anal about it all. and mixing myself with the dirt.
sometimes it is ridiculous to know that you are being used for something that you consented to in the first place. but who can change how things take their course? especially if you chose the path. the world’s not waiting for you, panting. they are striding on. all you can do is pick up all your shambled thoughts and move on. because, apparently, it is that easy.
we don’t have much longer now. it’s just another day and another day will soon pass us by. soon, this day will be the last day we have. neither of us are dying, but. so there is nothing to worry about. but I have a feeling that one of us at all times, will be caught up in quicksand. and then, I don’t think there will be much to talk about.
adios, dear friend. I hope we see each other outside of the fast tightening sand.
somehow, well formed thoughts are of the past.
for now, I live in the midst of cyclonic waves. and sadly, I like sitting next to the window sill.
someday, I tell you, the glass will break.
It’s a rather strange mix. Of the greens and the yellows, and the reds. Oh! and the oranges. You picked this one color, that I can’t describe. I don’t know what the little glimmer is. I don’t know what the feel can be described as. I remember instead the color of your closed off inside walls and the feel of the door; the wooden blandness of it all. But no, of everything else in the world, and of all the colors, you chose to burden me with a color that can best be described as a sooth-slaying monster. A color that in my mind slays all other colors.
Yet the funny thing is, this color that I refer to, has no name. Neither a face. Maybe it’s just a dust particles of the fury of the past, or maybe it’s the dregs of your last coffee. I don’t know.
It’s a rather strange mix.
