7.14

Sometimes I think I’m just talking to myself in an attempt to stay sane, telling secrets to the wind- but it hears every word I say, bringing them back to me in such a way that leaves me without the words to elucidate

Every thing whispered in every place is declared from the mountaintops, and no matter where you go to efface it’s echoed back to us, are eyes open to see, do our ears hear who’s singing over these

Tell it to the sparrows now upon the air who fall not to the ground without a care, confide in the jackals of the plain and it will be clear, no longer needing to be explained here

One of the greatest mysteries of this world, how everything is made to break yet all fit together in such a way to declare themselves beyond commonplace

Who tells chance which way to go, who writes the romance of the rain and snow, who told the dove where to find its given mate- or the raven above to fly of a different way

Before the thought even passes my mind, it’s there before me as though set before time, where is the dividing line between my will and my failure and what was never mine

Do these illustrations ever filling my head have any origin beyond the unsettling intensity of my emotions, neither graceful nor desirable, or worthy of any admiration the eye can hold-

Both insatiable, a moment being all they may behold, beyond all grasp, not as the waving grass, or the stars that will stay much longer in their place

Most of the time I think I’m talking to myself to create enough lies to go on, it keeps on coming back to me and I try to shrug it off, because every time I dare to believe in another breath it’s all taken away, proven to be the next jest

Why are the very trees listening if all I could ever say is just a fading whisper on the breeze?

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7.13 free write

I had a close friend a decade ago, who came and went from my life as all do so, taking each to our separate paths and I wonder with dread every time I check back

Why would God take nearly everything from him, crippling him both in body then in the mind within, losing his freewill in so many ways, an excruciating pill to pass upon the days

Will God put off forever, what merits His favor over another, why show Yourself to one but to the next go undercover

I lost my faith in the ways of God’s contexts, always afraid of what’s coming to get me next, ducking for cover to evade the stray bullets

Everyday it’s a new tragedy, and most commonly to those it’s most sad to see, as though one candidate deserves more or less than another, but truth is the grading curve doesn’t work how one’s expected to discover

The darkest depths of any heart are no mystery to the Ruler of the stars, but these events do not depend on how good or bad one is to this end, but semi- preordained kind of happenings is the trend

Unsearchable, Irrefutable is the author of what hurts or is both beautiful, but we all get ours, without a moment’s doubt, breaking us apart from our insides out

But what happens when all the cracks break through to surface wear, when it’s seen that we’re all trapped, just trying to procure our share

They say we all just want to be loved exactly as we are, but when all of the breaking is done, is there really enough to start

And in all the damage is it really always managed to bring some kind of solace in the places no one can, or do some pieces get left out, just broken and empty- handed?

7.12 free write

I’m left here alone with nothing but my anger and shame, called fate by some but I hold myself the only one to blame

I don’t know which poison to choose, it’s too late to return and both bring a different noose, the more you try to get out the deeper the blade sinks, cutting away a different part of your heart and instincts

Leaving scars that never went away, Left with no way to present a clean face, until I become the villain and never could have imagined how the details would fill in

Dragging down inside the remnants of emotion that kept me alive while adrift upon the ocean, looking for signs of a future in time that’s such a foolish notion

Come winter’s eve I’ll be just a memory, I tried to change but couldn’t enough for the death of these things, and it’s all so fucking old, I’m not even on the outside and still don’t want to know

But now you see the worst part of who I am, prayers fade away and it gets harder to hold back, what the fuck is wrong with me and I just won’t let anyone see

Therapy, pills, a conscious change of will, break things and erasing memories of what will never return, but it never works.

I didn’t believe it’d be this hard, though ironically I never even started, it chews you up and spits you out until you’ve no idea how it came about

They’re not just words, though they didn’t even need to be heard, but as they too become something that used to,

It’s not pretty and it’s never what it seems, Save to be that by winter’s eve I will be just a memory.

7.6

I’ve long felt these emotions to a degree that’s far too much, surely though they too will fade to another part that’s numb

Its been some time now that I see what they meant, that I have a decision since I’ve been dying in small increments

And we had just met when shit was really getting ready to begin, when every piece of my world was still suspended overhead, set to shatter into irreconcilable pieces in the end

Maybe though I just get what I deserve, the same fate as most everybody else to walk this earth, nothing better, and some will have it worse

but to even think of what lies ahead makes my stomach revile it’s diminished contents, do you remember where it began back then

How can I feel so changed in the space of just a few hundred days, everything changes they say but did they mean that nothing good stays?

No one can comfort me, there’s nothing they can say or do, because you can’t make it better when I’m wrestling with the truth

Which hurts more than any amount of lies, but eventually we all run out of time, did your heart stop singing, do they all feel so deeply

All that drives one to insanity and distrust, to vanity and lust, to suicide and hiding, and the murder of desiring; must all things die?

I feel too much, but not enough to trust that anyone would ever love me again, it’s hard to explain, my heart’s only in part ever displayed, anything beautiful concealed beneath pain

Just the way in which we all carry our most secret pains, I see their hurt but it increases the burden, for there are no promises nor hope for those who choose to live uprightly so

We all end in the same grave, all of our labor taken in vain, but a vapor in the wind and with no power to change what will be and has been, for only the face of God could hold back fate, but He seems to work in less mysterious ways

Being so, is there no hope in this life that I could know, though I’d love to believe in the songs I hear on the radio, I guess it’s impingent on one’s disposition.

Though it doesn’t seem to be just a decision, I simply don’t possess that kind of vision, and the man was right if God said I wouldn’t get along with the flock, or they’d misjudge my heart, attitude, and thoughts

And cliche and immature it may sound though, I never felt understood by anyone I’ve known, but none of us really are I suppose, maybe that’s why, when we still always feel alone

I’m sure some people in my life- if not more- think I’m dramatic all the time, for what they don’t know- and ask the most asinine questions over and over, which makes me think that maybe they’re not alone over there

On the other side of the glass we’re always speaking through, I wanted to find a way to once not feel alone too, but I never can break through with all these secret battles that tighten like the same noose

Futile but chained to me as irons, I can’t move on, I can’t let go, everyone’s better than me at letting it be, everyday the weight seems to grow

And I don’t know where else to go.

6.19 free write

I can’t seem to get the words out this way, or any these days, everyday is the same and I’m awful to complain

Because we’re all running fast as we can to stay in the places we began, always waiting, fabricating, for the next thing that never takes place

It doesn’t mean anything to me, I’d throw it all away for just one day of meaning, I’d trade every last breath just for something before death

There’s nowhere to go, there’s nothing I know that can ease the pain inside, after it all there’s only a fall and what’s getting harder to hide

So we grow up and we grow on, like we’re supposed to pretend nothing’s wrong, the gnawing reminder this isn’t where you belong, and with no way of finding the thought to hold on

Everything fought now rules my whole world, who would’ve thought I’d become that girl, the older I get the less I give a shit, with please and thank you’s and trying to explain it

I can’t say how I feel or I’ll come all unglued, there is no way to heal, only to exclude

Myself, immoderate, I keep asking God the same questions, there’s a whole lot of it, but no closer to suggestion

There are no answers, only air, along with all the rumors of some most divine care

That’s perhaps relative, that doesn’t have any morale to give, useless, and veiled, stupid fucking tales

Go and look for yourself, you’ll find evidence but a different kind of help, no answers, no succession, only expectation of contentment in regression

Some made to crush, others to lift up, you and I are dust, and then back to it become

So it indeed best to eat, drink, and make bed for today, if you can feign such a way to satisfy your heart, or forever painted dark, as it feels is the precedent

So in the rare event that one creates their circumstance, if you fly too high, you’ll melt your wings and die, should one place their confidence in anything beneath the sky

Turn to the left, turn to the right, stray a single step, your plans falter, wither, too die, as we are ever being searched by a never ending purpose

Go on and tell me, go on and lie, say again how it works out with time, no it is what you take, should you be permitted what is vain, to some but not to everyone

Time is deceptive but ever stuck in my head, it doesn’t go how we think it does yet still leaves evidence, I’ll never have enough of it to get what I desire, but in the same too much remains before I expire

Silence becomes the best policy, with all unsaid and done, it’s easy to see, that I don’t want to disappoint, I’m much better at being annoying

Beating my head against a wall, knowing well along it was all my fault, but neither was there a way to prevent it at all.