Alrighty, I am now a blogger, I suppose. Here's my first attempt at something creative/poetic on this here blog. Enjoy. Or not. I couldn't care less.
So, here I am, once again, sitting in front of this glowing screen, wasting time that I long to have more of, time that seems only to slither through my fingers as my life drones and dwindles on. As always, I am keeping myself from completing what needs to be done and focusing on what no longer appears to matter. While my fingers flit across the keyboard, music emanates from my stereo, calming me, struggling to keep my thoughts from straying to certain aspects of my life. Efforts are often futile. This happens to be one of those times.
Broken friendships dance across my mind, only to be battered away for the moment by the head-pounding beat that vibrates through my room. Words that might and could have been linger in my mind and on my tongue. My thoughts never cease, never seem to slow. I have trouble keeping them quiet at night. Memories of the present and past always resurface as I lie in the still darkness. They act as monsters, always straying from the closet that I have chained and bound them in.
Silently, I lay and suffer. I do not act upon my impulses. I remain calm, close my eyes. I remain in control, remind myself that with time also comes change. It is durable. However, among the wings with which time flies, lies a pestilence, an itch for which there is no cure or escape. Nostalgia plagues my mind. Deep breaths, count them each. Concentrate. Nothing in this room matters but the slowed breathing, the rise and fall of my chest, and the sleep that slowly seduces me, saving me from my own thoughts and demons.
Dreams commence. Now begins the showdown of my imagination and reality. The battleground --- my consciousness. Startled, awakened numerous times in the midnight hour, I writhe and clutch at my sanity. Sweat and adrenaline cling to my face, dampening my hair as I shake slumber permanently from my frame. So much for freedom and sanctuary. There seems to no longer be an escape . . .
Silently, I lay and suffer. I do not act upon my impulses. I remain calm, close my eyes. I remain in control, remind myself that with time also comes change. It is durable. However, among the wings with which time flies, lies a pestilence, an itch for which there is no cure or escape. Nostalgia plagues my mind. Deep breaths, count them each. Concentrate. Nothing in this room matters but the slowed breathing, the rise and fall of my chest, and the sleep that slowly seduces me, saving me from my own thoughts and demons.
Dreams commence. Now begins the showdown of my imagination and reality. The battleground --- my consciousness. Startled, awakened numerous times in the midnight hour, I writhe and clutch at my sanity. Sweat and adrenaline cling to my face, dampening my hair as I shake slumber permanently from my frame. So much for freedom and sanctuary. There seems to no longer be an escape . . .
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