Monday, November 12, 2007


I'm haunted. Not spiritually or in superstition, but by my own parading thoughts. They dance questions in little pink ballet slippers performing a series of delicate moments on each sensitive emotion. Their symphony is the resonation of my own heart strings. I have no answers.

Distraction is my arsenal against what it is that I do not know. I evade into mindless adventures where I don't have to ponder the unrealistic internal battle raging inside me. I consistently fail.

I know placing so much mind power wondering that which is just impossible will only make me insane. I suppose the voices are right. I suppose that I am crazy. Then again what great individual was not romanced as crazy at one time in their life? Challenge me with that and I will build you a sanctuary for the mentally insane. It is just that sometimes I wish my mind was as simple as those with accusations on their lips, and then I would not drive myself to ends wondering things that are too complicated for a delicate mind.

Dropping text into another random escapade of insecurity and hope is what I've accomplished here.

Sending text messages of nonsense to another plagued with unknown answers to the same impossible questions.

Now I lay me down to sleep, my haunted soul is his to keep.

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