I need my liquid sleep
But I can’t consume it with conviction
I need my liquid fire
But it doesn’t burn brightly enough
Oh to burn
These memories away.
Because I was confident
And I was harsh
I was cruel
You are insane.
“You are an eagle,
And I am a worm.
And even though
You’re probably going to destroy me,
Part of me wants you to find me.
If only for a second,
I can fly high
“you are an eagle, and I am a worm. Even though I know that you’re probably going to devour me, part of me wants you to find me, so that, if only for a second, I can fly high like you.”
yes, you were correct.
In one second, more is divulged than anywhere else experiences, for hours on end, for days even. More is translated in a single glance than is read in an entire volume, bound with leather but bursting at the seams.
And it expands, gaseous, fills this pathetic, dense container. It has expanded as such so many times before, and the room brims with it, stifling all life and matter within. There is nothing more than this, and there is no one else but you.
It rhymes so perfectly with dream.
Because dreams are where I keep you
And dreams are where I long to see you
But nothing. There are no excuses for failure.
God, I do this for you
But I’ll have you know-
You are a petty man.
Surely you could devise
A better situation than this
Like maybe one where I collapsed, faded, into a singularity
You want to tell me this is not love
I am here to tell you that if not, then this is better
But still I do this for you.
I am almost crying now
But still I wish to prove myself to you-
Even though you won’t prove yourself to me.
A supposed smile or sneer in a portrait is not enough
For either of us.
It shouldn’t matter.
I want to dance with you to a song we don’t know but in a pattern that we both follow… Happy, laughing,smiling. Like one of those school discos, individuals content to be a little retarded for the joy of it.
Sometimes I wish
That I was Schroedinger’s cat;
To have an uncertain survival
To wake up every day knowing that there was a fifty percent chance of my life going on
How wonderful, to not be bound
By the false security of complacency, of guaranteed life
How thrilling, to live when one should be dead.
One million bumbling boggling nagging tracks of jumbling fumbling tumbling thoughts every second, a million times a million sensations, signals, stimulations. A thousand reasons to hate oneself, hate oneself, hate oneself. Why, why, why? Millions of keypresses, backspaced, thrown to oblivion. A million unsaid words, a million unvoiced feelings, a million unspoken requests. A man, you say, asserts himself. But no matter. Procrastination is my strong suit, right? Everybody’s gotta be good at something. We’re all great at procrastinating. How ironic, that in a world of instantaneous response and instantaneous benefit and instantaneous satisfaction some of us are too afraid to take that little step, that step to gratification. I’m not really talking about anything or anyone in particular, not anymore. Every day I stare across rooms, down hallways, across playgrounds, down at the ground, across the blurred distance with gripping regrets. The distance approaches infinity, it stretches to it, and there is nothing there. Nothing for me. Stupid regrets. The most tiny things. The most colossal things. Paralysis, all of it. It paralyses me. Regret and upbringing and frustration and You and me and God and right and wrong.
I scream out, but He is not there. He is not found. He does not keep me alive, as I expect him to. He does not bring me up. Nobody does. Is He even there? Ironic how the logic of his existence to me does not coincide with the feeling of his absence. Yes, I speak of God, but this could concern you as well. I digress. That is not why I am here.
Whenever you’re mad about forever; and how short it turned out to be
Just remember everything is relative, and that one day you’ll be free.
But who knows, with all this technology, how long forever really is;
Because if I’m in a train at the speed of light then it seems that forever I will see.
This started as a solemn post and ended up as a limerick wtf
You said goodnight, I love you, I said nothing back. You rapped on the window from outside, and when I gestured, you had a pained expression. I ran to you, found you in that crowd, but then I woke, because I knew I was dreaming; and that was not special enough.
Hey, if you’ve got a wattpad account, I’d appreciate it if you checked out the rest of my stuff too (I don’t have much).
The common misconception is that you struggle in life so you can catch a break a little later and rest. But that’s not what life is all about. You’re struggling so that your struggle will amount to something in the future. But you’ll still be struggling. You’re not working hard to get those marks so you can relax. You’re working hard to get those marks so you can go to a university or a college or whatever and work harder still. You’re working there so that you can get a career in whatever it is you love, and struggle a struggle that you’ll enjoy for the better part of your life. Similarly, you’re not working out to get your body up to scratch and then quit. You’re working to get that body, and when you’ve reached what you wanted to achieve, you’re going to struggle to keep that body, and if you’re alive enough, you’ll struggle to push that body to perfection.
So why don’t we just stop trying, stop struggling? Stop attempting to amount to something? Because then you’d be dead. Breathing or not, you’d be dead.