P
Priince
Lurker
My life: In words.
The mere of impressions my fingers into my keyboard do my mind no justice, just as these tears do life none of the same. If brainwaves and stares could feed the hungry, I would be the world’s greatest savoir, but just as much as my life makes no immediate impact into this world, I will never become famous of such a feat. My mishaps are personified simply by my lack of love for anything on this planet, yet are placed on a pedestal much too high for such an infamous distaste for all things beautiful. Not that the love of my life isn’t such, because she does blind the sun when she opens her eyes, but she was created not constructed. I am taken back by the fact that I am now consumed by something I created and out-shined, much like the before mentioned comparison of a seemingly dulling sun and the gleaming eyes. Love can start wars, and stop hearts, but all I have managed to do it start a war between two off beating hearts. I myself, never being a man of words, have yet to name such a feeling, though an expression on my face as I stare into a mirror with a half shaven face and a towel wrapped around me, does the job just fine. Limitations of my own subconscious render me unable to picture a life of complete happiness, but my gag reflex expresses the feeling in a suitable manor. I do not call my current state of mind depression; it is, in fact, just an intense version of boredom accompanied by lack of interest in those things that would make me great. There isn’t an emptiness, as much as there a void, a black hole of emotion, that is encased by the subsequent urge to care. I create such madness and a vacuum of emotional death in the confines of myself, which starts with my eyes, where all lies start, and ends somewhere in or near my heart, where these emotions are last felt and delt with in an efficient and timely manor.
I do a lot of things because I want to, sometimes though, I have to do things because I have to, to stay alive, like breathing. And life gives you certain things to remind you that you have to breathe, like a blue face, or love. Love is a reason to live.
What I have learned about life is that we die, that’s all we need to know, and frankly it is just a matter of what we do before we reach such a fate.
The mere of impressions my fingers into my keyboard do my mind no justice, just as these tears do life none of the same. If brainwaves and stares could feed the hungry, I would be the world’s greatest savoir, but just as much as my life makes no immediate impact into this world, I will never become famous of such a feat. My mishaps are personified simply by my lack of love for anything on this planet, yet are placed on a pedestal much too high for such an infamous distaste for all things beautiful. Not that the love of my life isn’t such, because she does blind the sun when she opens her eyes, but she was created not constructed. I am taken back by the fact that I am now consumed by something I created and out-shined, much like the before mentioned comparison of a seemingly dulling sun and the gleaming eyes. Love can start wars, and stop hearts, but all I have managed to do it start a war between two off beating hearts. I myself, never being a man of words, have yet to name such a feeling, though an expression on my face as I stare into a mirror with a half shaven face and a towel wrapped around me, does the job just fine. Limitations of my own subconscious render me unable to picture a life of complete happiness, but my gag reflex expresses the feeling in a suitable manor. I do not call my current state of mind depression; it is, in fact, just an intense version of boredom accompanied by lack of interest in those things that would make me great. There isn’t an emptiness, as much as there a void, a black hole of emotion, that is encased by the subsequent urge to care. I create such madness and a vacuum of emotional death in the confines of myself, which starts with my eyes, where all lies start, and ends somewhere in or near my heart, where these emotions are last felt and delt with in an efficient and timely manor.
I do a lot of things because I want to, sometimes though, I have to do things because I have to, to stay alive, like breathing. And life gives you certain things to remind you that you have to breathe, like a blue face, or love. Love is a reason to live.
What I have learned about life is that we die, that’s all we need to know, and frankly it is just a matter of what we do before we reach such a fate.
