2004-09-07
Stop Before You Say Too Much
hearing: nothing
reading: nothing
feeling: tired? dying? Well I guess that's not... DYING IN A BED OF THORNY ROSES MY WORD MY WORD!
If there were more hours in the day, if I weren't quite so lazy, and if I better understood how to layout sales, sales returns, and net totals in an excel spreadsheet; I might have been able to present castrated (yes, I like castrate for describing the process of editing my most beautiful and raw pieces...my mind is too absent to think of a better word...) versions of a few bits of poetry I wrote today suitable for general public viewing. The poetry is squeaky clean of course, but the subjects are just too sensitive for me to feel comfortable showing them to everyone...I couldn't possibly...
But alas, time ran a bit short today, when I expected it to drag monotonously, and before I knew it, I could not edit anything for presentation...
I'd rather die in...
If only I could...
I wish...
All the words are crumpled and torn, discarded in frustration, scattered around on the floor nigh propriety and promise.
I am huddled in the corner with a tear stained face, languishing slowly as I try to burn the papers (papers here is a metaphor for my thoughts, penned words and poetry) and my heart with a gaze of painfully forced apathy.
It's there so close, and I know every facet of the issue, but I have to pretend it isn't there. I have to pretend not to care.
I don't want to languish like this.
I'm so lost and weary.
What am I to do?
How am I to feel?
What step am I to take?
What if I start crying?
Don't answer me.