SOULS What is? Waiting Memories Hidden Actions Fear Life
Suicide
The Walls
The Beast
Values
My Destination
My World
A Young Lad
In Response
Our souls are our essence, our being.
With out our souls, we are nothing.
We can not love
We can not hurt
We can not feel.
Our souls control our bodies.
Our souls are us.
What is joy, but a chance for depression?
What is day, but a chance for night?
What is fun, but a chance for boredom?
What is reality, but a chance to dream?
What is life, but a chance for death?
What is all of this, but a chance to hope?
I lay here waiting, wondering, watching,
looking for somebody to talk to, so I can open
up.
I lay here as my limbs are bound,
and my body is pushed by the crowd
I lay here watching the people, automated.
their soulless body's wandering hopelessly
Waiting for the next fad to give them reason to live.
As I lay here, waiting, I realize that I am the only person who can
think.
I realize that I am only looking for somebody to talk to.
I realize that is impossible.
Many thoughts my mind wanders
As I listen to the wind
And if falls upon a memory
that contains a golden day
A day that ends in tragedy
As I will soon display
It is of an angel girl
I met around the way
her hair was red, her features firm,
and her eyes a hint of gray
And of the angel girl, with her delicate hands
and crimson lips,
came a romance I shall remember
years and years away.
"hmmmm", I say.
but I think something more
I think about life
why we're here
and other mysteries of the universe.
I fight between myself for control of my body
I fight selfishness, greed, and envy
and I don't let anybody realize what is going on.
I sigh, letting my mask down for the remainder of the night
It's exhausting to do that day after day
why don't I just let people see the real me?
I know why though, I'm afraid I'll scare my friends
I'm afraid I'll be alone
I'll live alone
I'll die alone
So I put on a mask to make sure that I'll fit into whatever crowd I'm
with.
I'm not sure who the real me is.
I'm afraid.
Why are we here?
Why do we live trivial lives
and yet think that we're all as important as the next guy?
We think that our worlds, our reality is the correct one
and that everybody else is wrong.
We sit alone, but we think that we are together
we think that life is what is dealt to us.
Instead of taking what we think is ours
We do not make our reality
but accept what the norm is
If we could only see that reality is what you make of it
not what is given to you.
Your reality can be much different than somebody else's,
and still can be correct
Difference is not wrong, but change.
Change can be good, change can be bad.
but change is interesting, and that is what matters.
Life is meant to be interesting
and as long as it is interesting to you
Your life is not wasted.
you life is complete.
She is so charismatic,
Her features seem so perfect,
her elegant features filled with beauty.
an expert a calling
for she is old as time
she tells you that you can be happy
as long as you promise to do as she says
as long as you will give yourself up.
with a closer look though,
she is flawed
her aged skin has wrinkles
her movements are slow, clumsy,
her voice cracks if spoken to loudly.
I sit alone,
just watching my walls turning,
I think about who I care about,
I think about what I care about,
I ponder what my life would be like if they went away
if they died,
if they were taken from me
I try to figure out if they care about me,
if they're telling the truth,
if they actually love me.
I realize that who am I to ask these questions
my thoughts can't affect other peoples actions
they can only bring me a shred of belief in people
a belief that people do think,
that they feel
that they can act on their own actions,
and stand on their own feet
I sit, alone,
watching my walls turn,
wondering why I feel so different,
why I feel alienated,
why I feel enclosed.
I wonder why I sit here, alone,
and watch the walls turn.
This does me no good
I should be out helping people
getting them out of sorrow
out of grief
I sit alone.
and I write
The beast in me hides
It doesn't show it's ugly face
it doesn't show my dark side
it doesn't let people know I can be cruel
I can be a bastard
the beast hides in the corner of my soul.
Waiting for somebody to get close.
then he strikes.
He attacks with words, with actions, with tones
He attacks with insults, he yells, he destroys my friendly nature
It is in this short attack time that he shows his face.
that he displays how cold I can be
How desolate my soul can be.
How simply mean I can get.
I find something out,
it's painful, it's so painful,
but I ask about it to somebody else,
they tell me something different
I catch them in their lie,
and they know not what to say.
I ask them more questions
They give me more answers
these I do not know are true or false
and so I accept them.
I run, I run, I run.
But I ne'er reach my destination
I'm in a whirlpool that keeps sucking me in no matter how hard I swim.
no matter how much I wish
no matter how much I want to reach my destination
I fight the whirlpool till exausted
But as soon as I stop, the whirlpool loosens its' grip
allowing me life, but no pleasure
I get no where.
I shuffle these cards
these cards that are my only source of amusement
these cards that symbolize everything
these cards that symbolize me
I click the remote
the remote that provides me with sanity
the remote that provides me
I flip the light switch
the light switch that makes me giggle
the light switch that makes me
I laugh, I cry, I do all these things
but yet, I am empty
The door closes
with the lights turned off
the young boy hits the wall
and starts to cough
he takes out a bottle
and a cigarette
in hopes that by the morrow
his hurt, he shall forget
He wakes up in the morning
with a headache and a burn
he goes slowly to the bathroom
as his stomache starts to churn
The pain still lurks
behind each shadowy tree
and if the boy isn't careful
He'll fall, broken from Ennui
In response to childhood trauma,
in response to childhood pain.
In response to childhood kisses,
in response to childhood rain.
In response to teenage fun,
in response to teenage panks.
In response to teenage drinking,
in response to teenage angst.
In response to middle age games,
in response to middle age toys.
In response to middle age crisis,
in response to middle age boys.
In response to old age memories,
in response to old age sleep.
In response to old age suffering,
in response to old age meeps.
In response to human tragedy,
in response to human death.
In repsonse to human sorrow,
in response to human breath.