opus 362

i am a child, a small dependent child. like a baby i search and search quite blindly, for what im looking for. but quite unlike the babe, i search with eyes open wide. eyes open to everything around me. picture after picture song after rhyme, i continue the game. pouring myself out into endless avenues of selfishness, i show my age. empty complements and prying people constitute the continuation of self-loathing and inner-discontent, searching. looking for a reason, a purpose, a sound. a single, sane, reason, to be. passion. eyes wide open, bright, yet my small perceptive outlook so closed. dark, blind. not wanting to skip a beat i run, running down the streets. turn after twist.. each new beginning, just ending suddenly. quite suddenly. ending in dark cars, in dark neighborhoods, in the arms of a dark face. the face is blank, wanting nothing but a physical touch, a small connection to make themselves feel. feeling, numb. i wake up, running, without abandon. crying. tears streaming down my makeup-covered face. i see ahead, examples of righteousness and love. people, men, women, children! all selfless, purposeful, pure and peaceful. asking myself, what next? what now? i want that. i lust after their peace. i want passion, i want peace. i want love. love, "love is an action" i want a tangible love, a passionate reality. i want to feel everything. i want to cry. i want rain. i want to be content with life. such a contradiction. thunder. passion at its finest, the brink of light... shivering i sit outside, sirens. tornados and thunderstorms, me in shorts and a tanktop. numb to the cold. breath in slowly, staring at the ground, tears. crying because i dont know what's next. crying from the inside-out, my soul and inner-self. i can feel myself giving up, i know i am. my mind is in knots. my thoughts are twisted, skewed, and mangled. my desires have shifted. applied desires anyway.. i just want a cigarette, i just want a coffee press and pack of smooths. i dont want to be bothered. i dont want to be loved, or cared for.. looked after. i want to be alone, content, and passionate. life doesn't work the way i want it to. manipulation. with a new-founded tenacity and vigor i climb, i run.. i speak. telling my deepest secrets and ripping open old wounds. tearing at the scars i realize how broken i am, how far ive gone. its too late, too late for this. just forget it. start over.. there's no sense in going back, look forward - chin up. manipulation, im in control, i control my life. i convey new feelings. i start over. new canvas. where to start? ive done the body thing. physically mutilating myself until bare and broken "perfection, is met not, when there is nothing left to add; but when there is nothing left to take away." thoughts, drowning, up and down. nicotine. inhale, high on life and incredulously focused. everything works. like oil to the machine. my mind functions, eyes open and helping. my body and brain finally working collaboratively. secrets, lies, deceit, finale. bang. no, i cant.. i cannot be dependent and i cannot lie. i tell, i tell all. and everything now? everything is back to the run, the search, the battle... everyday i wake up and ask myself "do you really want to eat today?" "just one cigarette.. one wont hurt, eh?" "just run kaylin no one will miss you" everyday is another day of discontent. peace less. work is my haven, school, a creative outlet, home is like hell.
life is a circle, and i want to get off. crying.