Loving and loathing myself.
I am tired doing nothing.
Is that another word?
Words, too many woe is me words.
Where can I find the brutal stinging words?
Or the gentle humming tune.
I am a mixed bag of emotions, no words to weep on,
To ponder or to simply indulge my deepest self pity.
Who cares for it?
Just a choice like everybody else, decisions & beliefs to live by,
Consequences, yes consequences and conscience to follow you.
Sometimes the exact feeling is to poison the very paper you scratch at, others to lift you to a place beyond thought & wildest fears.
How do you just be?
Atone my ways; know my heart, I live and love but I am a lost child. To live is to give thanks.
2006-11-09
10:11:21
·
5 answers
·
asked by
Bentele
3
in
Books & Authors