Dear Diary?
Dear Me.
Dear Heavens.
Am I content to be discontented?
There is a pit of misery that falls so deeply no echo can escape.
The dark so saturated it rises.
I am no Van Gogh.
I am no Picasso.
Da Vincci less so.
My soul is nameless.
Cry, boy. Cry.
Not from joy.
Not from inspiration or defeat.
Release. Release. The insanity will create the clearing.
This could go on forever.
There is no bracing myself.
The tumultuous toil will turn me into a ravenous feat of insanity.
Maybe there I will be home.
Call me insane. I have called myself so.
Call me insane and my soul may no longer be nameless.
1 comment:
Beautiful and tortured. You thrive in misery. It encourages you. It is your motivating factor, to change things. If everything is ok, you will cease to exist. And there is not going to be a time, ever, when everything is ok. Gloom is always lurking, certain things will always be out of place and we all need it to keep going. We all need some discomfort to keep us alive. The key though is not to sit in it too long and fall too deep into the gloom. Each difficulty is a chance to for anyone to conquer.
Post a Comment