Tuesday 2/12/2013 01:29:00 AM

the world ends in different ways for different people. for some just the once. for others again and again. it's almost funny how i managed to live so many years of my life believing it hadn't already ended years ago.


this life is strange to me. a heavy blanket full of holes. i both shiver and sweat. i am simultaneously smothered and naked.

there is no need for poets anymore because the world isn't changing. does not desire to do so. humanity has stagnated. change, nor even its blind cousin dissidence, are not welcome. mediocrity won the war a few decades passed.

being different is a beautiful experience when one is young, but it quickly gets ugly with age.

society needs judges. purveyors of art and song. but they are all dead or otherwise discarded. i'm not crazy. just useless. the world is constantly ending and beginning again. a cterminal infant. it never matures. 

sometimes i'll get high and entertain fantasies of impact. that this solitary talent which i possess will have its voice heard. and actually matter in some meaningful way.

but the world is loud and bright. and i am quiet and dark. i've tried to change. or more, have tried to pretend that i can. let the neon swallow my bones and held my breath under the din of voices. until the panic overcame and i grabbed for air.

nevertheless, i still suffocate.

and why should i change as it were. be anything other than what i have always been. should this world not have a place for me, is it not my right to find it elsewhere?

still the courage is yet to be found in myself or these words.

thoughts are uneven ghosts. intent is struggling flames.

living. poetry. even dying. each demand a voice. but this silence is all that i own.

those stones are much too heavy. there's no changing the world anymore. i'm only the child of my disease. more straw than brick. i'm only trying to determine why it is i woke up alive this morning. when everything else was already dead.

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