Thursday, 28 May 2009
Sometimes she gets angry, but for the most part she feels nothing, absolutely zip; zero. I suppose that's the price of growing up; eventually the children shutup. Eventually. Eventually the anger fades, or maybe it only dims, like a candle dims. If the fire is fed the right kindling it rages, but only if it's fed. And even then the fire can only look menacing, even then anger only masquerades. I guess that's the price of growing up. Eventually everything fades, livelihood dims. Purpose ceases to matter (if there was ever a purpose at all.) Even the candle burns out eventually.
I post this because it's about the only thing that fits right now, and if I hadn't dated it I'd never know when I wrote it. I don't even remember writing it, and I can tell you just about anything about everything I've ever written, where I was, about how old I was and what was going through my head at the time. Most of it's pretty apparent, but not the above piece. And maybe a select few of my poems. Sometimes I write things, put them away, and never remember them until long after. Okay, January of this year isn't that long ago, but already it feels like fucking eternity.
Another year has gone by since I moved out here and I feel farther away from myself than I did when I first got here. In another year I'll feel even further, and another year after that I'll be so fucking desensitized to my own self I won't recognize my face in the mirror. Sometimes there's moments like that where I glance in the mirror [I never actually look in the mirror, why on earth would I want to?] and I can hardly recognize the face staring back at me. Sometimes I really wonder if I'm not losing all sense of myself.
But this is what I wanted, or so I told myself. I want to be numb to the pain, I want to be nuetral. However, I can't tame my heart, I never could. I don't think anyone can tame the human heart, I think it will always be, and has always been a wild animal. I think the heart desires to live and my head only desires to survive. There's a major difference there- for those of you who have no fucking clue what I'm talking about.
My will to survive has diminshed steadily over the years, but my heart's will to live has never died, the flame has never even flickered. I suppose that's human nature and it's always true to itself. Even when I finally stare down the barrel of a gun for the last time I think my heart will still contain it's desire to live, in fact, that fire may rage in that final moment, but my head will already know what it knows, and pulling the trigger will be easy.
It's not easy now because my head isn't quite sure of what it knows yet, but in time it will be sure, it'll be abso-fuckin-lutely positive. And then I'll find out what bullets taste like, because honestly, I've always wondered.
[someday, maybe never]