What if you knew something, but you didn't understand it? What if you could look through, but you couldn't quite figure out what it was that you were seeing on the inside?
It's like vines on my legs -- winding around, binding me together. All I can think about is the scratch of thorns against my skin. All I want to do is find the roots and pull it out of the ground for good.
The bank account is upside down and the gas tank has to last. I'm free to do whatever I want -- but I understand that what I really need to do is not go anywhere or spend money.
The house is bare, save for me and my distractions.
It gets
so quiet
in here
sometimes
It should be heaven - days on end with nothing to do. But somehow it's eveything but. It's like a boat in the water; sails sagged, waiting for wind. I have energy, but I can't find the tack. I want to go, I want to move, but there's no inertia. Instead there's all this stress. All these threads of knowledge, these little puzzle pieces on the ground. I don't have the middle yet -- just the corners and the edges. But I've learned some things lately that I really wish I didn't know. And it's getting under my skin, eating away at me until all that's left is a skeleton of fears and half truths that no one wants to talk to.
...Maybe in a perfect world, I could take what I have seen and leave the rest for later. Gather more information, or maybe even just get some perspective on everything so that the colors all around me wouldn't be so glaring and raw.
But all I have is myself, these silent walls, and the voices that I cannot seem to quiet.
Lately it just seems like I just pace the place like a cat in a cage. I think about the music I could be making, about the writing I could be working on. I think about the time in my hourglass, slipping down like snow.
There's so many things I could be doing. So much time now to get things accomplished.
But instead all I do is read your words.
Again,
and again..
and again.
It's like vines on my legs -- winding around, binding me together. All I can think about is the scratch of thorns against my skin. All I want to do is find the roots and pull it out of the ground for good.
The bank account is upside down and the gas tank has to last. I'm free to do whatever I want -- but I understand that what I really need to do is not go anywhere or spend money.
The house is bare, save for me and my distractions.
It gets
so quiet
in here
sometimes
It should be heaven - days on end with nothing to do. But somehow it's eveything but. It's like a boat in the water; sails sagged, waiting for wind. I have energy, but I can't find the tack. I want to go, I want to move, but there's no inertia. Instead there's all this stress. All these threads of knowledge, these little puzzle pieces on the ground. I don't have the middle yet -- just the corners and the edges. But I've learned some things lately that I really wish I didn't know. And it's getting under my skin, eating away at me until all that's left is a skeleton of fears and half truths that no one wants to talk to.
...Maybe in a perfect world, I could take what I have seen and leave the rest for later. Gather more information, or maybe even just get some perspective on everything so that the colors all around me wouldn't be so glaring and raw.
But all I have is myself, these silent walls, and the voices that I cannot seem to quiet.
Lately it just seems like I just pace the place like a cat in a cage. I think about the music I could be making, about the writing I could be working on. I think about the time in my hourglass, slipping down like snow.
There's so many things I could be doing. So much time now to get things accomplished.
But instead all I do is read your words.
Again,
and again..
and again.
[Listening to: Bauhaus]
Comments