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The Angels Are Surely Weeping

  • Jul. 26th, 2013 at 8:12 PM
couch
The wolves crawl under the porch, they see your heels and relish a quick scratch, but I see the hesitance in their irises. . .they won't attempt anything, not on my watch.

Walking towards you. . .

The fire tingles my every shoe print, they scathe the earth with their stinging tentacles.  This heat fuels my needs and dissolves the barrier that I have around my thoughts.  You do this to me, you know that right?  I recite those words in my mind; the one's you tell me to forget; the ones you won't repeat; the ones i keep close like soft blanket.   I feel their razor edge that makes my wounds bleed deeper and they flow farther into the ground, and the roots become soaked with your. .  .I look deeper at you now, I need to know, is it real?

Your hue, it reveals what you won't.  Everything you conceal, I receive hints from the shades of color that you express.  It's a veil that only hides just enough for you to see through and for me to look back, but I know more exists in that thin fabric; it is thick with images that can only be read by the touch of each fingertip. . .

I will feel what you say and you will know what I feel.
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WR

  • Jul. 21st, 2013 at 1:38 PM
couch
You think you're unknown, but we both know that's fallacious, and your attempts to disguise this continue to steer towards a steady decline.

You criticize, barrage with insults, and constantly breakdown others around you, but it's you that's hiding; it's your "defensive mechanism."  I know this only by what I see, it's impossible to ascertain what exactly is flowing through the entangled and complex silhouette that is your mind, my mind. . .anyone's.

You only know what you let others see, intentions are difficult to unmask.

What do I see?

You're stubborn, but that's what I like about you; you're creative, and that's what I like about you; you're warm, and that's what <3 about you; you're often negatively critical, it's something that confuses me and yet it's what I like about you.  There are many facets and intricacies to your character and that's what intrigues me.

So far and wide is this divide, and yet, so close has the space touched opposite edges at times.  However, once a fraction of the corners rendezvous, that is when the ship immediately hails on, swiftly in the opposite direction.

What is it that you're so apprehensive about? Is it that someone might show concern? Are you weary or dubious of others intentions?

I apologize for testing your patience today, but I was curious for my own selfish reasons, I just wanted to know more.

Now I do, at least, that is my perception.

Not everything relates, digression is constant. . .

  • Jul. 14th, 2013 at 11:29 PM
couch
It's a bit perplexing what the intentions are.  I feel misled by the traces of steps that guide me around you.  Sometimes the patterns are full and rich with color, but at other moments they're gray and faded; why do you blur the stains you leave behind?

I think I need to express more.  The skill, I feel, has drained; it has slowly seeped from the tips over time.  It used to be frequency, but now it's sparse and seemingly void of meaning, it shouldn't be forced or pushed to the paper. . .an expression clearly in this case.

The voices speak softly and encouragingly, very telling and wanting to release the prisoners that rattle, but are often ignored.  It's like a narrative that goes on and on, but the mind fueling this story isn't the same one telling it, or at least, it doesn't always seem that way.

skip. . .skip. . .I need one that motivates, that encourages the words, maybe this one?

I continue, but I don't know what I want to get out of it all.

(sings to self)  kind of, it's more like half song, some thoughts that digress from the sounds, but at the same time tries to relate this bundled mess that's tangled up like cords behind a desk. . .which current is still being fed? and which has died? it's such a mess.

skipping some more. . .

this one rings well, it's so honest, but it feels. . . I don't know yet.

It needs to happen more, I need to happen more, I can't go on feeling stunted in my abilities.  I was told before, I had this talent, this gift, but I hate to boast because I lack the esteem to do so.  I can be honest with myself, but I can't promote myself. . .sometimes, but not all the time, not when it's something that would be considered "special."

I don't feel special, and I don't care to be.  I know the difference exists universally and no one truly has something that is only theirs if someone else shares the same passion.  What is special, however, is that the passion exists.

That is what I don't want to lose, my passion, because it's something special that can be shared and used collaboratively to create beautiful things.

Early

  • Oct. 21st, 2012 at 9:43 AM
couch
I'm awake.  It's somewhat early and I need to read, absorb, write, compare, contrast . . ."I can't let it out, I still let you in."

My throat has been tight for the last few days.  It's not hard to swallow or breath, but it feels so constricted.  It must be something in the air, it seems everyone is having the same kind of problem.  I refuse to be sick, because I have so much to do, but yet, I'm not doing it, I find every excuse not to, however I still manage to make it through.  Is that just how I am?  

I need to accomplish a lot today, I think I will.




#Mouse

  • Sep. 16th, 2012 at 11:41 PM
couch
I'm feeling it from the sounds.

The thing is, I can't always express those feelings, unless I hear something familiar that releases it from my mind.  This one does a good job, "Tired" . . .it captures my mood and helps me define and form how I want to the words to come out.

The flow of my thoughts get disrupted easily, why are they so paranoid?

Every night I create this world, it's fictitious, but it helps.  It used to be the boat, but it's moved on from there.  It was next a collective engagement at this large house, everyone is present. . .they're laughing and smiling, we finally meet.  Now it's somewhere foreign, it's cold and the rain stings your nose as it hits the tip, but that's okay.  The sights, sounds, feelings, all of it is. . .different.  

The words have escape me now, I supposed it's time to read some more.


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