Dreamweaver

I'm really rattled up about this. I've never felt so out of hand with myself. I guess making a joke of it makes the impossibility more acceptable. Makes being so close but so far away so much easier to stomach. I feel like I'm making a mess of what could potentially be the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I somehow feel hopeful for the first time since I can remember. I think the world is just too critical and stuck in their heads that they don't know what passion is anymore. Society tends to put everything in too narrow a perspective for people to truly live by. It's about empathy, not morality. I would kill to live in a world which accepts peoples choices, sans judgment and unprecedented punishment. Alas, it's the 21st century. Wake the fuck up.

Laconism

The birds whisper in the wind and I feel nothing. Not the wind or the snap of fallen branches. Not even the unsteady beat of my own heart; the single physicality that always woke me from my sleep. The days fall backwards, as though silence were the only earnest way to distinct one from the next, and some don't seem to move at all. The taunting laughter in the distance makes me comfortless, a feeble stone tossed among the trees that never grow. But I am not small, my veins still ripe with overgrown bravery, head full of lucrative potential. Scorn from what I can only reason as arbitrary dogma. The line has blurred where loneliness began and emptiness remained. I have grown too proud to turn to God, ineligible for his sustenance, too distant for amendment.

Grow up, Blow away.

Please just decide how this is going to end

so I can stop waiting for it to begin.