#24

Saturday, March 9, 2013

And all my writing is deluded
And all my hopes are false
Trying not to grasp
Trying to kill the desire inside of me
But it's difficult
When I'm not sure what I'm reaching for
Or what I want

A lighthearted conversation turned suddenly real
My head thrust into turmoil with one sentence
Then pushed quickly out the door
Not allowed any more razor-sharp words
To cut through the gordian knot that instantly formed
In the hollows of my skull
Left with the frostbitten fingers of my own thoughts
And the shaky hands of my morality, ravaged by time and toxins
Unable to get to the center
Because each pull at one side
Only tightens the rest
Sometimes revealing new snarls, too
I wish I knew where to find a torch
So I could burn the entire thing to ash
And watch it drift off on the wind
Never to see it again