Although the weather is fairly mild for how late it is in the season, the temperature is changing quickly. I can feel it in the air. As more of November passes, i become more stale than ever. My complete lack of ambition is startling and disgusting, and i wonder why i even bother to liberate these thoughts.
I am very sore. My heart aches from the lack of compassion. I only have myself to blame, for i have created several deterrents for the common encounter. I suffer to find something extraordinary; it is this i hope to find here, that in which i strive for the city to show me. Where and when is unpredictable, but until then great care must be taken of my self, because i am all i can have.
Here are some snips i have had laying around, quite literally, on a piece of cardboard. It has been laying around since September or so.
Please try to preserve the sleepless innocence,
It shows the most trying of souls through shiftless inter-changables.
I beg for mercy from these woes,
For there are few others i can relate to these days!
As my body transforms,
And my body warps,
For once in my life
I anticipate the bitter cold!
And i’d rather not hear you speak such banter any longer,
For it is far too much to bare,
Especially in such times
Where both shoulder blades and ribs
Cave in on an aching pity of tirelessness–
Bloodshot eyes and arthritis
Aching from the forearms down.
Academia has yet to begin.
I wring my skin of an aching burn.
The body is weary and demands rest as i can expect it.
Coincidentally, demand is on the rise–
Or could it just be another ideology,
One that explains the universe to the mind?
Depriving the body teaches one how to survive…
Dreams pervade and do not convey
What they initially seem to say!
There is much more depth in the debts
Owed to the self,
Not concerning the return to miserable stakes
Relating to perishing states,
But the subconscious metaphor
Must be devoured
and digested before
These feet will consider straying
from the designated course.
the times shall continue forward
As the search hardly commences.
(although, it began so long ago)
The dream screamed of that presence, and my first thoughts were worry. It was just another dream, merely a subconscious crafting of a feeling and the person connected to such bliss. The aching passion has torture and doubts; they are no longer present. Remaining is the acceptance of the situation and the general direction of my life.
May 3, 2009
Hollow heart for a starving cause.
Sorrow binds a frantic mind.
Overbearing lungs and steaming flesh
All commit to a sense:
Forward is the direction
Of a quickening pace.
Sheening skin, cooling.
Face the detriments of confident distaste.
And the bellowing of soul,
Verses in and down a movement
Captured between stone and glass.
Hearty laughs despite the highs and
Outward delay of delight.
The pleasure of serving none but the self
In doubt of what can be considered health;
It is the wrath of lasting hopes.
Fabrications are wearing thin now that the snow trembles under such exalting warmth. There is a sense of life awaiting in spring. it is so near that i can taste it in the air. And with certain kin to accompany these tired hands, a transformation will erupt; good fortune must prevail.
There are monologues of the unseen written in between these lines; there has been an immense amount of mental activity swirling the confines of my life, yet i find no way to emit them to paper with ink. But the lack of ambition fades with the cold, as with the need of covering with so many layers. Now the skin can breathe.
Scheme you seemingly heartless body,
Hardly a person-
And ruining perseverance.
Tie your tongue,
Now is the time to analyze
And sift your burgeoning
Mental weight to decide.
What is really important?
The dusks and dawns in between-
They unveil an uncanny sense
of what this life contains;
A shuddering sense to sway
To the rhythm of the same
Minimalist caves of solitude-
Wells of ambiance passed unseen
And unheard to sweet whimpers
Trust held and nurtured.
Comfort swells and falters,
But dependence placed on self
Allows the trudging through
Each and every day to persist.
And forever watching,
and forever waiting.
The fortune of fates
Relates and fortifies bonds yet to surface.
An ever watchful blaze
To scorch scores
Of brimming verse.
An ignorant vision
To view night shade
As if there was light.
A regrettable lack
To see others equal
To self in strife.
Post-script and dragon breath,
Cowboy coffee and
Cigarettes. To start,
Begin the day at once.
The fresh scent of early spring,
It leaks upon this palette
Although the month marked march
Has yet to arrive.
Vices were an option
The devices of today,
Tomorrow, or during
Last week’s sorrows.
Become the bliss, Routine
To spontaneous rounds
Despite what some may–
Speak of, now is the moment–
Voice it or never be heard.
Before this day’s head trauma,
In a green death’s stupor.