Where do I start?
The face, the river damn of tears, or the built up frustration like an angry ball of fire
Lets go for the face
So poetic, yet hectic with that non existent beauty. Whats up sullen? Life got too hard for you again? Streams of living, oh what it does to your tear ducts.
Thought about smiling? Okay, I take that as a yes, seems as the mere thought sparkles misery in the stream of tears
Why do you cry so? Oh I know, its because no one listens, right? But then again what do you really have to voice. Seriously, what do you really have to say that you deem of so much importance?
The feeling of just being heard would be nice, but then again no one really asks, do they?
Am I dreaming? Is this even reality? I mean seriously, this isn’t my over imaginative imagination deeming whats before me as life, is it?
Wheres the focused eyes? hysterical laugh? Feel like your on cloud nice, not the happy kind, the cocaine high cloud I’m talking about. Not really there, but your there. Not really feeling but you feel something anyway. And its all for no importance. What are you seriously going to do and become. No different from anyone, all the same, just in different masks of pretence. We all end in the same state. Shallow graves, all that bleak, dark, and full of misery. Maybe I might have started building your pit.