 |
||
The Truth About David |
|
Monday, January 17
Population: me. It's that feeling, like mist, hovering around my intentions. Dark and frustrated. Angry. Bored. It's the endless questions to which the answers are already known. My bloated patience about to burst with the next inquiry. It's all the little defeats. The dirty looks and careless solutions. This is weight I grow tired of bearing. It's become a rock to which my hopeful aspirations are chained to. The bind is a grind I cannot escape. So now I wait. I clamor to the hope of returning to me of old. Young me, with easy laugh and serious plan. The me who knew what was what and how to live. Yes, I wait. Amid the daily irritations and internal debates. Amid this horrid pain. It's all the same with these eyes. All fixed and unrelated. It's gray on top of grey. Needing to be sorted out. Different from what was and unreached but used to be. The paradigm of discontent. I was never this way. But things move along. Change, though necessary, is often bothersome and clumsy. For me, that is. So I will bemoan and lament these torturous days, but not concede to them my waning disposition. At least, for now, I'll try. I'll try... | |
What is this?
Getting fondled by the hand of fate but still not pressing charges Who I be
Just a man, trapped in Yonkers and seeking understaning. Recent Rumblings
Tired of mass graves If I could Her place Take two... 
GoHere:
|
