| » Poem: The first two days of Febuary |
The first two days of Febuary
written by FinkiePinkieShinkieBeenie01:32 AM 4/20/05| I know when my led is running out, I either have little more to say or Im saying too much. Everything is pretty much symbolic to me even though I really wish it wasn't . Wishing always takes me to a different reality. Something different everytime. But then I'm back to life and learn to accept that I'm not going anywhere and neither are my problems. I'm going to have to deal with it by either keeping my mouth shut or possibly breaking my bones. Maybe I think too much. I should be thankful I think. I wouldn't be able to do the things that I do to help everything in general. I wouldn't be able to cry. The past few weeks have been very interesting for a person who finds a 16 year old not watching but living his life(the wrong way) entertaining. I'm completely aware of my position and stance. Then my led runs out and I have nothing to say. I always talk about how people have no control over their life. I have no control over life. Life has control over me. Ive learned to accept that too. Ive been accepting a little too much. Things need to be done. This way its not killing me. But I never have enough led to do it. My brain can never stop thinking of one thing. Everything bad and good is turned on at once. It impairs my ability to say what I need to say. Im always going through a phase. Something is always acting up in my brain, whether its my horemones or my faith. Theres times when I cant stop talking and doing. Those are the times when I refill the pencil. I feel like everyone should know how things are coming and going. Then I feel like I shoulld seperate myself from people. The only thing I could never have alternate feelings, suspicions, or fear for is rock. Only I know how I feel and look at it. No one else. Theres a box around my head. I dont just hear it, I feel every palm mute, every cymbal crash, and every scream. This is one of the very few things that keep me from putting down my pencil. I have faith in God. Hes the person that makes my led. He always supplies me with more. When he stops making led then I'll run out for good. And I'll either have nothing to say or leave what I'm saying unfinished. I have a feeling he wants me to realize something in my writing. So I can live without using this pencil and this notebook for a bandaid for a mental wound. I am completely aware of my position and stance. I know the outcome of every statement and act. I know what I have to do. I know what I have to say. I know that all I know is a lie. I dont know my position and stance. I dont know what to do or say. I sure as hell dont know what will happen if I do or say something. When my led stops running out, thats when I know. Hes right there behind my eyelids and my skin. Hes the one who knows what is to be done. Hes the one writing. Not me. I dont ever want anybody to think like me. Because then it will fall on them. The curse of thought. Anything that can kill you is a curse. Apparently thought can kill you. It tends to be found with the bodies that were taken by suicide. I could never kill myself but the thought has crossed my mind. It would never make anythiing better. Besides, I haven't run out of led yet. Anyone who is familiar with contridiction, hates every letter of this paper invading thought spill, but knows that your mind is built upon it. My mind has actually been overtaken by it. I cant do much but accept it. I think I know what I need. The one thing that I think would do it for me would be a companion. We're not talking pets here. A person. Someone who understands and cares. Someone with the same faith................someone with at least a hand full...............someone the same but smells different. And I know who. That person brings nothing but butterflies in my stomache and mental constapation to me. I have to hold my head up to think about that person. I have to play my Guitar slower to think of her. This is when I think I know everything. Somehow someway, the event my pencil is so famous for never gives up at this point in time. If doing would happen alittle more than saying then ending up in aggressive water will happen a little less. Knowing that, I should be able to do what ever my little heart desires. But since Im still sitting here scratching the pencil against the paper, you and I will never move on. Nothing will get done. You will Keep reading as I keep writing. Running out of led. |
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Author's footnotes and comments on this Poem:
i really wrote this in the first two days of febuary. yup
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