PoeticaL
cluttering the net since 2001

my december

Sunday, Feb. 22, 2004
ever wonder if this is all there is to life? get up in the morning and the sky doesn't look different than any other day. move about and through your day like every other day and it all feels like nothing. no spark. no energy. nothing. cook. clean. breath. read. sleep. move. silence. think for too long about chemicals in the brain that make you feel ill. blame the feeling on the lack of serotonin and lay down and sleep. wake to find that you've only lost a few more hours and gained a little less time to pass. watch tv, find a movie that you've seen before, remember the exact scene's not from the script but from the first time it played in front of you. remember but wish you could forget. wait around all day for love to get home from work in hopes that it might spark something good inside. realize love's got other things to entertain and do. hybernate within yourself, within music, within writing: someone elses because you can't write right any more. at least it feels that way in this today. move. breath. drink water. sleep. nap. toss. turn. regret the sleep. regret the toss. miss the right turn. end up left behind. worry you can't pass the a.m. hours now that you can't again find enough weariness. type. numb. nothing. pray for release. wonder why you have this illness no one else can see when all you can do is be inside of it looking out. type. hit enter. move again.

This is my December
These are my snow covered dreams
This is me pretending
This is all I need


-linkin park

1:47 a.m. ::
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