Here I am again...Glass of unwanted reflections shatterNo one tries to help me since they know that I don't matterSitting in the lonely moonlightI try to think of what could possibly be rightIt echoes in my head with an endless ringA constant reminder of what I wasAnd what I've beenAnd now I am alone all over againScreams that I could never believe to be mineEcho in emptinessThat can never be definedAs the persuasive truthOr the never ending liesAnd now I'm hereAlone as I always have beenSitting alone with a wind that makes me swayWaiting for someone to come and help meI sit in this moonlight, expecting the cliché rain to come and take me away
ThoughtsThoughts are streaming through meAnd into a desperate hand.Trying to express everything I need,And hoping that you also understand.With a pen scratching on paper,Unnerving hands clicking on a keyboard,Or a wavering voice trying to escape the air.I hope these thoughts get through these pagesTo those that need them the mostAnd probably need them more than myself.
"Who are you?"I'm no one of importance.Even if I did have a name you wouldn't remember it;It means nothing.My physical stature is something you wouldn't be able to comprehend,But maybe you might remember my emotional being...I am unstable, alone, and unbearably self conscious.I think things I shouldn't, only exploring the depths of what you call an imaginationTo only end up falling deeper into the maze to where I may never return.I am set on business when there is nothing to do.But when I work I focus on pleasure.I have theories that have already been thought of, just not at such an immature stage.I think of things that others have not, or so I think.I am a disappointment to those around me,No matter what I doI hurt those closest to meWhen I care too much.I am someone you are familiar with,but you do not realize I am also familiar with you.I am someone that you need to know,And yet you continue to ignore me.I want to share more with youAnd I want to share with you things that yo
Idea BlockageA plain white canvas on the glass table continues to stare at me with accusation. Its blankness, blaming me for its unoriginality, continues to allure me, and yet I can't do anything for it. With the varying paints next to me, just begging to be used, I pick up my brush and am only a bristle away from dabbing at the gloomy colors I had formed, but at the last second I had pulled it calmly away, disappointing the acrylics once again. With absolutely no inspiration I lean forward in my chair with my head in my hands, completely lost of what to do.I have no inspiration and no creativity swirling around in my head like the fishes in the fish tank next to me, with their bulging eyes digging a hole into my very being. Or that's the vibe I got from them anyway whenever I usually felt like this.Basically, when I feel empty, and absolutely bare with a vacant brain waiting for an idea to stop by and take a load off in its branches. I start to think that maybe I should put up some imaginary ad