Disconsolate...
To: The Conscious Areas of Minds,
Subject: I hope you have the time...
Would it be reasonable to say there is a part of me which could be described as the following: beyond consolation?
If it is reasonable, then it would also be reasonable to say that my relationship with JT, amidst its contortions and disproportions has taken this part of me and shrunk it considerably.
I had quite a lot of time to myself yesterday, when I started to write this. With a lot of time comes a lot of thinking. Thinking leads to these ideas, revelations, all the sounds of the inner monologue finally getting their chance to be heard. Hearing the thoughts, I was avoiding or trying to forget is always, in a certain sense disappointing.
A feeling like completing a report, that I hated researching into and finally getting it submitted to notice there is a typo on the penultimate page, an irritation that doesn't quite qualify to raise the pulse; a let down that doesn't seem to cost. The satisfaction of completion like the removed making of smiles.
Here, am I coming for it, the talk of it, should it be? Oh, these days, we'll never come back, did you remember or did you forget? For every step, I take, worth every breath, I take, as I turn, into, everything I hate. There must be a reason, like there is for the changing of the season. Will I go on, who would miss me, just to carry on. Why should I pretend, honestly I'm losing, with every move, I make.
Where does the tongue come out of the cheek?
Subject: I hope you have the time...
Would it be reasonable to say there is a part of me which could be described as the following: beyond consolation?
If it is reasonable, then it would also be reasonable to say that my relationship with JT, amidst its contortions and disproportions has taken this part of me and shrunk it considerably.
I had quite a lot of time to myself yesterday, when I started to write this. With a lot of time comes a lot of thinking. Thinking leads to these ideas, revelations, all the sounds of the inner monologue finally getting their chance to be heard. Hearing the thoughts, I was avoiding or trying to forget is always, in a certain sense disappointing.
A feeling like completing a report, that I hated researching into and finally getting it submitted to notice there is a typo on the penultimate page, an irritation that doesn't quite qualify to raise the pulse; a let down that doesn't seem to cost. The satisfaction of completion like the removed making of smiles.
Here, am I coming for it, the talk of it, should it be? Oh, these days, we'll never come back, did you remember or did you forget? For every step, I take, worth every breath, I take, as I turn, into, everything I hate. There must be a reason, like there is for the changing of the season. Will I go on, who would miss me, just to carry on. Why should I pretend, honestly I'm losing, with every move, I make.
Where does the tongue come out of the cheek?
4 Comments:
I think the tongue comes out of the cheek at the mouth hole.
sounds like depression
Sometimes the struggle to be more than who we are, and to reach beyond what is possible, diminishes us in the most painful way.
What, you, see, what the hell are you going to do to me? What you see what you never can get, losing your mind cause it's full of regret. Facing everything, you never could quite really say, I'm not happy about myself happy about you, nobody else. I want to let you know, I'm never going to let you go. I want you, to want me, can't you see, you, I say, I want you...
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