12 February 2009
Something about a word picture 12:16 AM
Really, it's become a rather trite subject, this boohoo-I've-got-a-hole-in-my-heart business. Sometimes I feel schizophrenic, like my evil emo twin is posting on this blog and making me look like an idiot. I hate seeing pieces of half-written, powerless, inexpressive prose on this webpage. I think I'll just delete them all. I can write better than that crap. Really.
When cars were a novelty, I'm sure that when one passed by people stopped to awe over it. Now, cars being an accepted and widely used form of transportation, one would be considered a schmuck of sorts if he stopped in his tracks to stare. There are too many "cars" (whiny grievances) in this little highway of my life, and stopping to write about them is a waste of time and makes me a schmuck of sorts. My personal issues aren't so novel anymore.
Now, it's really just part of my personality to want to express my innermost feelings, but I guess I had to learn self-control at some point, now being better than never. This is not really an apology, and I'm not saying I'm never going to attempt to write something that is emotional and straight from my heart (*gush*), but I am truly and honestly sick of half-witted attempts at expressing something which I hardly care to express anymore. I guess all I'm saying is that I need to switch my subjects up, for crying out loud. Pain and sorrow are not even that big a part of my life, anyway.
I feel the need to reinvent myself. And maybe, who knows, I might be schizophrenic after all.
When cars were a novelty, I'm sure that when one passed by people stopped to awe over it. Now, cars being an accepted and widely used form of transportation, one would be considered a schmuck of sorts if he stopped in his tracks to stare. There are too many "cars" (whiny grievances) in this little highway of my life, and stopping to write about them is a waste of time and makes me a schmuck of sorts. My personal issues aren't so novel anymore.
Now, it's really just part of my personality to want to express my innermost feelings, but I guess I had to learn self-control at some point, now being better than never. This is not really an apology, and I'm not saying I'm never going to attempt to write something that is emotional and straight from my heart (*gush*), but I am truly and honestly sick of half-witted attempts at expressing something which I hardly care to express anymore. I guess all I'm saying is that I need to switch my subjects up, for crying out loud. Pain and sorrow are not even that big a part of my life, anyway.
I feel the need to reinvent myself. And maybe, who knows, I might be schizophrenic after all.
01 February 2009
All that remains 2:38 AM
I don't like this feeling. What is it? Regret, perhaps? It's a ghost limb feeling; there's no warmth where you once lay.
I can't bring myself to believe that I want, I need to have you here. Right next to me. But I'll roll over and leave a space of the bed empty, because I'm going to sleep tonight. Without you.
I can't bring myself to believe that I want, I need to have you here. Right next to me. But I'll roll over and leave a space of the bed empty, because I'm going to sleep tonight. Without you.
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Life