True to my tells, I'm writing and have yet to fully admit why. When you think, or maybe it's just me, there are lots of me. Perhaps a better way to put it would be there are many facets or components of myself that think and react differently. I'm assuming everyone has these with the advent of phrases such as 'fighting with oneself'. Honestly? I often feel like the outward me is just the mediation of all these facets, that none of them are more indicative than the others. A little piece of my pieces seems to come through with every step on this breeze and every word in my head. So now is the wait.
Do we have any bets, because I'm not sure that I stand a bet's chance at this point. This is just so totally doomed, it's all going to hell, and when I'm through, when everything is thoroughly damaged, I will see it there.
Hold me. Hold my eyes close. Let me go and view the destruction. Let's see what kind of apocalypse I'll come with. Come to truly find how underestimated I am. How deep my secrets run. Scar tissue of steel and a heart of glass. But you'd never know because seeing is believing and I'm nothing but blanks.
As soon as you know how to read them, I run.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment