Both Yes and No
I look out through the trees and wonder, what's the point? It all seems useless now, just a cycle to come back and bite you in the ass later. Folding my arms I wait for them to stop with their fun, their sick, pointless, bittersweet torture. I really could care less what they do. Flipping people around in the air, brings back memories eh? "Humph"
Memories I would rather forget. But remembering them is the first key to surviving this world. Yes, this wonderfully cruel world, which likes to haunt us with our past. The past needs to be remembered, and is always brought back to mind. Every thing is a relation to everything else, a relation to everything in the past. So every time someone sees something, they are brought back, and every once and a wile those will be the painful ones. Mine are mostly the painful ones.
Various screams pierce the darkness as they flood to the woods. To remain calm wile they wither, what power! Their fear and worry brings me higher than them, because I'm in control. It's good to be in control. I don't know, but it seems to me that if people were calmer this whole ordeal would be over in a moment. People can be such fools. A cool head with a good conscience can solve any problem within the limits of their intelligence. The only problem is, I'm not always in control. This heat burns in side me, for the moment subdued, but eventually it will break free to wreak havoc on the bitter world around it. It's usually not much, just a mean comment here and there, but it is enough to turn a conversation around, to give an assigned reputation, a first impression on the down side. It happens enough. It happens too much.
I try to quench this fire with cold. Yes coldness is good. It's not as cold if you think of it as warm. The sweet taste of loneliness is cold, it chills, it keeps you awake, and alive. But truly, no one wants loneliness, not the way I want it, not the way I don't want it. I don't want to admit it, but I hate being lonely. That hate makes me weak, that weakness forces me to become lonelier. Not very uplifting, is it.
I gaze back out over to raucous. The ministry finally got involved; they're kind of slow, aren't they? I'm not really looking at them anymore; I'm looking at space, at air, at nothing, for I am nothing.
Once again I am turned away from as if nothing but a shadow, perhaps that's all I am, I practically look like a ghost any way. I could care less... I could care less... I could... if I wanted to. Do I want to? Do I want to care, to feel, to hurt, to hail, to feel joy, to suffer sorrow? Is that really what I want? Maybe... not, um yesno? Answering this question is a pain of it's own, and every time it asks it's ghastly call I say "I don't know, maybe, sometime later, perhaps, both yes and no..." and what happens when I keep asking this question, what happens when I answer? I say I'm weak, I say I'm lonely, I say I'm everything nasty and only wanting good, and I hide in darkness and reply with hate, and wait to answer another day, hopefully far away.
My concentration is shattered by the acid color of a symbol, as screams pierce my ears and bite my soul. Now the screams bite my soul. Above me I see a future, a future chosen, a memory I would rather forget. I future it seems I cannot escape by my own devices, what am I to do now? Where am I to go, to turn in time of need? All I trust is myself, and one is not many, so what is my answer? I don't know, maybe, sometime later, perhaps, both yes and no...
I look out through the trees and wonder, what's the point? It all seems useless now, just a cycle to come back and bite you in the ass later. Folding my arms I wait for them to stop with their fun, their sick, pointless, bittersweet torture. I really could care less what they do. Flipping people around in the air, brings back memories eh? "Humph"
Memories I would rather forget. But remembering them is the first key to surviving this world. Yes, this wonderfully cruel world, which likes to haunt us with our past. The past needs to be remembered, and is always brought back to mind. Every thing is a relation to everything else, a relation to everything in the past. So every time someone sees something, they are brought back, and every once and a wile those will be the painful ones. Mine are mostly the painful ones.
Various screams pierce the darkness as they flood to the woods. To remain calm wile they wither, what power! Their fear and worry brings me higher than them, because I'm in control. It's good to be in control. I don't know, but it seems to me that if people were calmer this whole ordeal would be over in a moment. People can be such fools. A cool head with a good conscience can solve any problem within the limits of their intelligence. The only problem is, I'm not always in control. This heat burns in side me, for the moment subdued, but eventually it will break free to wreak havoc on the bitter world around it. It's usually not much, just a mean comment here and there, but it is enough to turn a conversation around, to give an assigned reputation, a first impression on the down side. It happens enough. It happens too much.
I try to quench this fire with cold. Yes coldness is good. It's not as cold if you think of it as warm. The sweet taste of loneliness is cold, it chills, it keeps you awake, and alive. But truly, no one wants loneliness, not the way I want it, not the way I don't want it. I don't want to admit it, but I hate being lonely. That hate makes me weak, that weakness forces me to become lonelier. Not very uplifting, is it.
I gaze back out over to raucous. The ministry finally got involved; they're kind of slow, aren't they? I'm not really looking at them anymore; I'm looking at space, at air, at nothing, for I am nothing.
Once again I am turned away from as if nothing but a shadow, perhaps that's all I am, I practically look like a ghost any way. I could care less... I could care less... I could... if I wanted to. Do I want to? Do I want to care, to feel, to hurt, to hail, to feel joy, to suffer sorrow? Is that really what I want? Maybe... not, um yesno? Answering this question is a pain of it's own, and every time it asks it's ghastly call I say "I don't know, maybe, sometime later, perhaps, both yes and no..." and what happens when I keep asking this question, what happens when I answer? I say I'm weak, I say I'm lonely, I say I'm everything nasty and only wanting good, and I hide in darkness and reply with hate, and wait to answer another day, hopefully far away.
My concentration is shattered by the acid color of a symbol, as screams pierce my ears and bite my soul. Now the screams bite my soul. Above me I see a future, a future chosen, a memory I would rather forget. I future it seems I cannot escape by my own devices, what am I to do now? Where am I to go, to turn in time of need? All I trust is myself, and one is not many, so what is my answer? I don't know, maybe, sometime later, perhaps, both yes and no...