Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Plots, colours and contentment

His words are that of meaning, it sinks in deeper than any others, I feel them writhing and making their way up to my brain, travelling by way of veins, furiously pumping weak blood, under bruised and scarreds arms and a charred but still functional heart.
The problem is, as much as the words go in to my sponge like brain, they can not get to the center, I push them away and rely soley on my own delusions, but ehy? I'm sure if I were capable of just for once, accepting what I were told without questionisng it to the point of non-existance, I would be so much happier. Content, is the world, without need or want. Oh, it would be beautiful, my mind set to rest inside a beautiful dream-like realm, where I would find the colours.
But instead, I pick apart his judgement, I pick him to pieces, I can not allow he I know who is right to control my thoughts, that would be putting faith in him like he were a God. But Dr. War says I am my own God, which makes a lot of sense, it really does.
So, there was a start, a start in which I carried myself with curiosity, a fine memory and a fascination for everything. There was the end, where I go insane, maybe die, but point of, life as I know it will end. Now, what for the middle? No story should have to end so suddenly.
If this is the middle, it makes for one hell of a plotless book.

Ciggarettes laced with sedatives, crooked plans and addiction go hand in hand. I must watch out for these things in the time I stay here. Why? Not sure, but they're sure to haunt me, if not hurt me.

1 comment:

  1. Are you talking about NR?
    I honestly can't remember.
    I think you might be. If so, you ought to listen to 'im. You will later, and you'll regret having not done so sooner.

    Then again, past me HATES being told what to do so...

    OH. Reverse psychology, ya?