Every moment free from its hateful self-loathing grasp is poisoned by the humming undertone of something wrong. I can not escape this because it has become my world, my view, my inturned mind.
It has become me and I can not look beyond myself. It's mad, it's crazy, it's wholly irrational and it hurts like only compassion can hurt. The kind eye looks and sees only distance. A clenched barrier of reproachful hurt, a rock with stony stare.
Uncertain, without response, we gaze but we move on.
Yet inside, left behind, I scream, I howl, I beg for aid.
But I can not reach because truth there is no aid, no option, no way out.
All there is is pain I can not share.
The animal pain, wounded, in blind incomprehension, in self-pitying pain, turning on those who'd wish it well.
The combat, the fight, the will to go exists only in itself, and it has lost its lustre.
And yet, I ask why?
Why bother with this flinching charade of continuing on. As if there is an investment on this hollow shambles that is weighted down with pain and fear and guilt.
And the silent anguished heart of me responds:
Because all there is is other's love, and other's hurt.
And if the beast can not salve, it can prevent.
-----
I'm tired of this like you wouldn't believe.
And I hate that I share this here. But hey, it needs an outlet somewhere.
Didn't think that this would be what the blog would be.
I always wanted to talk just about books, but there's way too much baggage with me for just that.
Guess this blog is gonna continue on being quite personal and you can count on the books waddling along with that as well.
Thanks for listening/reading anyway; it means the world.
No comments:
Post a Comment