i feel lost all the time
scared; petrified of the world
for it stares; piercing stares
to make me look down
and on it goes with happy lives
glossy finish and leather covers
never to find a speck of dust
while i bite it again and again
why must i be in a constant battle
without even a chance to prove
when the world moves just fine
with mediocrity abound
i feel lost all the time
angry; enraged at the world
for it laughs; petty laughs
to make me hurt myself
rushing back with a flow
crushing smiles with every blow
far too many to push aside
memories. life, they decide
Everyone has a voice. Mostly hidden under a mountain of ‘you are right’ and ‘ I agree with you’. Every now and again I will find mine. Only to be shocked with the rough, blunt and overall dull nature I never thought it had. Or I might be over analyzing it.
But whenever I come across an article so flawless, so deep and effortless in its structure, I am filled with newfound vigor and passion for my writing. Unfortunately for me, the child within me takes over every time something good is about to happen and messes it all up. It plays with my voice like a new bought shiny toy it never thought it wanted, plays with it for a couple of days and throws it in a dank corner of existence never to be picked back up again.
Somehow I have had my voice change over time depending on what I wrote. How I wrote. It gets more and more difficult to find that old voice that I so desperately crave. Where’s the humor? Where are all the jokes? Maybe I cannot make a joke because even if I did, I’d be too stupid to get it.
I guess I need to keep at it. Reading back whatever pile of garbage I poured over on the page above is proof enough. All I need is some inspiration… Great excuse to get cheap bus tickets and roam around the city witnessing random strangers quarreling over the seat. After all the guy threw in the kerchief onto the seat from the window. He got dibs!
Sometimes, you know things will not go your way. No matter what you do… That doesn’t mean you get to give up!
maybe i am tired
retired of existence
in consistence with loss
chaos reigning on life
strife, still rife
Just keep going. Making up for lost time. And every time asking yourself – what if…
What if I paid attention to the constant motion of the clock? Would I still be here? Rambling nonsensical bullshit, shouting into the abyss?
It’s false, this feeling inside. A change so drastic, yet so predictable. A quantum of peace even if it’s an illusion. Why can’t I find it?