i appologize for the poor grammar, as well as no capitalization. but i am a teenager. its what we do.


just write and dont stop. dont think just write. because writing cures this cannabalistic boredom that is rooted in my mind. dont think. just write. who cares what it is if it makes sense if its eloquent or just pure garbage. if it will help then do it. go on. dont pause like that, thinking of a good word to put next. this is no time for frilly adjectives. go deep. feel it, because its better than feeling nothing. remember. or forget, or just go on.
my fingers look too pink in this light. its too dark and nowhere near the hour of long expected celebration. i should not feel this way. its just another day. we've made it into an excuse to stay up late, drink champagne and kiss. it cant be that romantic. it's like starting over, people say. but to me it just shows how little we've progressed.
"andrea?" "yes?" "we're going to eat soon." "ok."
another distraction. excellent. where is everyone? i feel so alone. i havent eaten a real meal today. i ate cereal out of a cup, and some crackers and a banana. where was everyone? my sister was off with a friend, i wish i could have had that same distraction. my parents fumbled with Highway companions, getting less than they deserved through procrastination. and i sat here, praying not to have that fate, to try and be good, to get it done with. i couldnt do it. i fell into this screen and its petty distractions willingly. these forgetful convorsations, perishable feelings. nothing ever matters. i' mwasting time no matter what i do. i used to have it all set out. mind over matter. i'd get things done to taste the blissful freedom. now i can't do it. i want the freedom more than ever, though i know it will destroy me. its a precarious balance; i can't seem to get my footing. so many have fallen. as we speak i hear his cries. i know what lies down his path, i want nothing more than to save him, reach out to him, but it's not me. too long he's lived without those neccesary evils, those responsibilities that can make or break us. he's broken but i still see the fight in his eyes. he'll do it, if not for him then for me. we both know it.

Words by dre
Read 773 times
Written on 2009-01-23 at 06:06

Tags Write 

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text

Eli The PoetBay support member heart!
Stream of consciousness writing I'm guessing. If it is, then its a powerful way to discover ideas for future writings. It also has a healing quality about it, like a creative release to expose and locate the thoughts and the feelings that can plague us. Well done, I'm glad you are writing - keep it up.