Reading lostNdelerious's journal

Aug 10, 2004 01:18 # 25271

lostNdelerious *** mindlessly drivels...

Satan sells sea shells down by the seashore

96% | 4

I close my eyes and begin to write. I experiment. I let it flow, let whatever comes to mind dance on the paper to unfold into a mess of words no one understands. Fragments of thoughts leave the conversation empty. Stop. Nothing left to loose. Lost everything to you. I open them out of frustration. This isn't working how I want. Close my eyes again imagining a lover. Bodys entangled but neither are really there. They Reveal fears and memories but neither really care. Again. I Imagine a tired woman sitting in a dining room of her apartment. She lays her head into her hands crying but no one seems to hear her. She barely whispers and a smile she paints on. The innocence faded away long ago. Its the thing to do now, to grow up fast. To grow up fast is to say goodbye to happiness. I try a little harder to get a little more out. I imagine a kitten stuck in a well. It cries and whimpers. Its dark, damp and cold. Never going to get out. Never going to see light again. Never going to live. Sucked into the corporate coffee sidewalks cemented late night come home 3 oclock. I missed you love. Wake up, start again. Breathe. Never going to get out. Its dark, damp and cold here in my heart. Sarcastic. So what are the answers? Do you ever really get out. Can you follow the breadcrumbs. Would it lead you back to innocence or do you die unhappy trying?

when living and breathing is still overated in the eyes of the seeking.

This post was edited by lostNdelerious on Aug 10, 2004.

Aug 10, 2004 03:43 # 25283

Bunk *** throws in his two cents...

Re: Satan sells sea shells down by the seashore

?% | 1

Ahh, stream of consciousness...

Actually, it could stand to be longer IMO. But anyway, I appreciate this style of writing, so thanks! :)

"History is more or less bunk." - Henry Ford

This post was edited by Bunk on Aug 10, 2004.

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