||[Jul. 20th, 2004|01:03 am]
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This train of fucking thought that never ends
Will the nightly sirens ever give me peace?
Or will it just continue
To weave through dark and untouched spaces
Haunting me forever with it's ghosts of what I've seen
Every single word
Each look and breath and slight of hand
Till the sun leads me away
And the colored lights, too distant, yet too close
That blind me
Standing naked, frozen, lost and found
Once a doormat with an open door
Now I sit afraid to open
Please go away and don't come back
I've travelled now too far
The innocence lost, the freedom found
The tears were dry too fast
To have grown these quills
Which poke and sting
And push you all away
A hunger once so clear
Faded, I'm too full
Has the light burnt out or is it simply resting?
Will I ever get it back?
So quick to tire now
The silent space I need
Grows ever wider
Will the walls come down?
Or have I turned to stone?
©Sichernde Seele 2004
It's amazing to me that during this time of obvious growth, that I'm so frozen. It's not that I don't feel. It's just that I feel only teeny glimmers in fractions of seconds. The warmth is only a tease and it fades so fast. I mean, is this simply defense? Or have I just totally burned myself of all ability to give a rat's ass? I still love, but it seems so clinical these days. So hydrogenated. Like it's only a reflex.
Now, while I'm certain that all the recent events in my life have kind of lent my psyche to a certain state of "Holy Shit Woman, Turn it OFF already", I realize that this state is one that's actually been building for several years. So I ponder if I've simply buried things deep enough that I can sort through all the shit and then find that fire again when I'm ready....or did I really burn my light out. I fought so hard for so long for so much. Sadly, I had no fucking clue what I was fighting for. Now that I have a clearer picture of who I am and what I want in life....I'm slightly numb.
And the one thing that actually sparks some emotion deep down in the recesses of my seemingly black heart...isn't really anything at all. It's an illusion. A figment of my overactive imagination. And perhaps, just perhaps, it only makes me feel this way because it's such a safe and antiseptic distant reality.
Yet, in all of this...my writing has come back. My writing which has only been there in the times in my life when I was at my absolute most emotional moments. So, perhaps my soul and my brain are just lacking a level of communication that they used to have. The soul is still there, but the head has built a large barrier to say "We'll deal with it when we're damn good and ready"
There are things springing forth from my fingers that have NEVER dared to pass before. A level of honesty that I was never comfortable with before. Because I was just too nice. I'm not sure I want to lose the nice girl...but I'm not certain I want to give myself ulcers over always trying to be the perfect good girl that everyone wants to be with all the time. I kinda like the sarcastic bitch that's a little more straightforward and a lot less likely to roll over and take any crap.
Ahh, the ponderings of the eternal thinker. Anyone got like a temporary on/off switch for this old head of mine??? Serious sedatives are not out of the question, really....