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[Oct. 23rd, 2007|10:25 pm] |
It's been a while.
I feel like there's nothing left to do. I know you won't understand, maybe you'll get mad at me. By you, I don't mean you know who. I mean you, myself. That's who's always mad at me. I never study enough, or try enough. I'm never worth enough anymore. The road I thought I was on has become broken and no longer fits my lifestyle. I'm glad you're gone. You, really. Time is passing and every day a little bit more of me leaves this town. The rain isn't even the same anymore. The people aren't the same. Even the sky isn't. It's all growing so old. It's dying. I had a place to be, and somewhere to go. Now I don't. I'm lost in my own home town. Funny isn't it? The things we do, the choices we make, to realize that they were made for the right reasons, just not the right choice. I wish I knew how to say what I really want. I guess I can try. I want you to go away. To vanish. Not you this time. You. All of the things you'll never accomplish, all of the emotions you'll never feel. You're pathetic. Really pathetic. I'm left with my better half now. You. I bet all this talk of you has you confused. I guess that's my goal. My friend once told me, that life is like a car ride. Everyone has their own window. What happens when you don't care enough too look out that window anymore. You'd much rather glance over to the person riding next to you. Doing all of the things you will never accomplish. I've wanted to say this for so long and tell you the truth, I still don't know if I can. I guess I can try. I want to be this way. I want to. Shut all of the doors and block the rest out. It's easy for me to do and makes things so much more enjoyable. I often wish I could hook my life up to the machine, and figure out what's true. So I spend hours of time writing words onto paper then destroying them. It sounds a lot like my life. I wanted to find peace, and even ground. Now I've found war, and hate. Hate that I thought I had forgotten is ruling my life all over again. It appears in more forms then just an emotion. In a person. Walking right past me yet so far away. Like a time bomb, I sit waiting. With a fuse running short, I've prepared myself for this. This, my great moment. The fifteen minutes of fame my whole life has dwindled down to. Just press the delete key. Backspace it away. That's what I tell myself. I hope you can understand every word I write here, is for you. It's not for anyone else. I know you're confused. I am too. It's just broken, like a sentence with no capital letter and a question mark. Broken. I'm tired of asking the same old questions. Who am I? I don't know. I'm going to start asking who are you. So I'll start back at the beginning. I feel like there's nothing left to do. I've done it all, and I'm left with a trophy room filled with silver. Then one gold. Did I really win? Was I that good? It's hard to believe when everything points to me not being so great. What do you think? Honestly. You know who. You. Was it worth it? Is it worth it? Will it always be worth it? Or will that medal just turn out to be silver. I hope not. It's all I want. |
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| This is private. |
[Mar. 27th, 2007|06:53 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | The Roots - In the music | ] |
This is my private journal for my rhymes and other writings. If you want to read them, add me as a friend, and if I know you, I'll add you back.
"Begin. Demystify the mummy within. If you ain't hotep then ho step, I'll step to your friend. Parable of the wind. Blew black through the end. Endless nights, kicks and fights against time and her friends.
Slowly day and night blend. Twilight takes form and then open sky sprouts an eye: solo, singular, sin. Downward glance, upward grin. Half the women are men. Children born of the morn grow until daylight's end.
Sunset sets on the wind. Blue-black blows once again. Ever since ever after henceforth happy ending. Children born of the wind take the night as their friend. Starlit sky, many-eyed wonder of the within. Fear: original sin. Death: nowhere near the end. Once upon break o'dawn's early Lyte: Paper Thin."
- Saul Williams, "The Dead Emcee Scrolls". |
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shreddernahmean's journal