AndrewWood'sDeath
Member
- Aug 11, 2021
- 41
I wake up and scratch my oily scalp.
Sit down across from you. I take a drink. You take a drink.
I winked. You laughed.
Did you become kinder after you broke me? I should be scared probably but I am in one of those fiery kind of years letting my self turn to phoenix ash to be fixed again in a year or two.
I talk aloud when I watch shows or read books. I talk to you all day in my head, but aloud. Separate, to you. I talk to a god I don't believe in sometimes, not to ask for anything and not accusatorily.
I swear every time I talk to someone, I hear you talking at me. You are the only one I can comfortably talk to but are you the reason I can't comfortably talk to anyone?
Is it just me on my own already unable to communicate?
Does the difference even matter?
No, it is the difference between a granite or a marble divide. It makes no difference to the one who must jump it.
I am here trying to tell them everything, pouring it all out but they had no chance to provide me comfort, and I had no chance to ever be good to them because it just isn't me talking. I haven't really had, a voice in years. I am so far down now I can only write while they speak for me.
I am here trying to tell them everything while I berate myself for being soft. For showing you all my underbelly every day, bearing myself as weak, bearing my fang filled stomach to be spit on.
I wish I could hear them but I just don't. How unfair to them all that I do not even listen. I am not capable. I listen to the received message, passed down a line of others. Others who speak for me. Who knows if what I receive is even what they said.
Sometimes I don't hear anything at all, and I know they don't always either.
I just want to be alone. I (we: the world) all want solitude and understanding all at once.
I (we: the world) want every contradiction that was ever spit from the grainy supple earth that spawned us.
I (we: the world) want to burn up like a torch then be put to rest. What a rancid split of oil, fire, water, and dust we are. Dry and wet and slick and parched.
We are ground into the hard surfaces like every one before us, it is only that each generation becomes more cognizant and more whiney in their demise.
And who can blame us. We become vocal but we speak through other beings. Beings who know secrets we never could.
Beings who wrap us tight, who wrap us tighter than ever before and meet in the night, or in the dawn.
Beings who meet whenever you allow your flesh to go under. They go out and converse. They share their secrets. They share, and so now each man in the whole world must know the secrets of every other.
It is unknowable. Ungraspable yet unshakable. It is consuming you. Consuming you and not me. You say I am on fire? They tell me I am fine.
I sit down across from you, and you begin again, speaking and sharing. Telling me all the things I really don't want to know but that it would be irresponsible not to know.
You, and only you, oh great fire, are the best conversation partner I have ever had. Am I selfish for this?
You tell me, and you know, because you know all things, that it is selfish of me to have made you a conversation partner, and not a conversation piece like you are to the good ones. The right ones. And you; you ARE right. Because you know all things. You have learned them as I slept. You have talked in the night, and you have outgrown me.
You are all and you are good. You are the fire and the heat, the slick that makes the oil, the dry that makes the dust and I am just your feet. That is okay, that is right. However I know this. I know this that you have told me; I should not be with you.
Should not be sitting side by side with you.
I don't want to hear your secrets anymore.
Sit down across from you. I take a drink. You take a drink.
I winked. You laughed.
Did you become kinder after you broke me? I should be scared probably but I am in one of those fiery kind of years letting my self turn to phoenix ash to be fixed again in a year or two.
I talk aloud when I watch shows or read books. I talk to you all day in my head, but aloud. Separate, to you. I talk to a god I don't believe in sometimes, not to ask for anything and not accusatorily.
I swear every time I talk to someone, I hear you talking at me. You are the only one I can comfortably talk to but are you the reason I can't comfortably talk to anyone?
Is it just me on my own already unable to communicate?
Does the difference even matter?
No, it is the difference between a granite or a marble divide. It makes no difference to the one who must jump it.
I am here trying to tell them everything, pouring it all out but they had no chance to provide me comfort, and I had no chance to ever be good to them because it just isn't me talking. I haven't really had, a voice in years. I am so far down now I can only write while they speak for me.
I am here trying to tell them everything while I berate myself for being soft. For showing you all my underbelly every day, bearing myself as weak, bearing my fang filled stomach to be spit on.
I wish I could hear them but I just don't. How unfair to them all that I do not even listen. I am not capable. I listen to the received message, passed down a line of others. Others who speak for me. Who knows if what I receive is even what they said.
Sometimes I don't hear anything at all, and I know they don't always either.
I just want to be alone. I (we: the world) all want solitude and understanding all at once.
I (we: the world) want every contradiction that was ever spit from the grainy supple earth that spawned us.
I (we: the world) want to burn up like a torch then be put to rest. What a rancid split of oil, fire, water, and dust we are. Dry and wet and slick and parched.
We are ground into the hard surfaces like every one before us, it is only that each generation becomes more cognizant and more whiney in their demise.
And who can blame us. We become vocal but we speak through other beings. Beings who know secrets we never could.
Beings who wrap us tight, who wrap us tighter than ever before and meet in the night, or in the dawn.
Beings who meet whenever you allow your flesh to go under. They go out and converse. They share their secrets. They share, and so now each man in the whole world must know the secrets of every other.
It is unknowable. Ungraspable yet unshakable. It is consuming you. Consuming you and not me. You say I am on fire? They tell me I am fine.
I sit down across from you, and you begin again, speaking and sharing. Telling me all the things I really don't want to know but that it would be irresponsible not to know.
You, and only you, oh great fire, are the best conversation partner I have ever had. Am I selfish for this?
You tell me, and you know, because you know all things, that it is selfish of me to have made you a conversation partner, and not a conversation piece like you are to the good ones. The right ones. And you; you ARE right. Because you know all things. You have learned them as I slept. You have talked in the night, and you have outgrown me.
You are all and you are good. You are the fire and the heat, the slick that makes the oil, the dry that makes the dust and I am just your feet. That is okay, that is right. However I know this. I know this that you have told me; I should not be with you.
Should not be sitting side by side with you.
I don't want to hear your secrets anymore.
