Thursday, October 27, 2011


Sitting here, wanting. Waiting, but nothing comes. I am only left with the shadow of who I used to be, and who I wish I were. Sitting in the dark, lights flicker from the street like the neon of some old distant movie house. Now lonely and cold like I, alone and sorrowful. I wonder some nights, like this, if tomorrow will be as gray and distant as today?

Encouraged only by longing, I seek out higher planes of existence. Only they are my comfort from this dreary, damned soul. Through experience and love can I find my way back to the soft warm touch of the sun. Only then will I understand the meaning of happiness. The lack will wither and die like winter.

Something inside is stirring, as if the eternal rays of the sun were battling the cold gray of winter. Inside, I am longing for the warm breeze and hot touch of the sun. Inside me exists sad, worn metaphors with nothing left to offer. I ache. A smile is as happy as a bruise on my aging skin. It dies as my soul dies slowly from want.

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