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Member
Join Date: Oct 2004
Location: Great Britain
Posts: 3
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**Staring At That Page**
This is just something I wrote in a fit of writing (Suprisingly!!), anyway, please read and please comment! Ty.
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Staring at that page lasting longer than a lifetime. I was determined to establish a thought or two which would provoke a historical movement. In fact, not a movement as such, more of a new thought. A new... way of thinking about things, and that's quite possibly the most difficult thing in the world. Or so I thought at the time, anyway. All the lovers and loners in my life had left me to suffer to escape on my own that year. I felt that I was capable of simply blocking out the things which, well, will would kill me, simply because I could. In saying which, I don't want to die. Never. I really... I really, really want to live forever.
And I will, because I am capable of that. My consciousness is one of those things which you cannot define. And i'm sure everyone else's is the same too - It's my greatest friend and my worst antagonist - it fuels my ambition and almost always manages to knock me down when the first hint of paranoia filters through my arrogance. That page seemed to get more yellow the more I stared at it, I could see words on the page but I couldn't read them, I couldn't determine what they meant or what they represented. Potential words which could potentially open eyes, open minds, and drop doubt into oblivion. I was getting hungry but my will to write drew me to the page, I couldn't leave it. I wanted to write something sincere.
And of that, to wake up in a cold sweat in the late hours of the evening, the window open and all alone in my dead home, I really felt I needed to write something. When you dream of something you feel almost that it's an insinuation - Like it's trying to convince that, yes, you can do that. You can win over those who doubt anyone with will and acute assumption. Turning over I threw my feet onto the stale, cold wooden flooring, the soles of my feet turning blue - a small crack in my ankle at every step I took towards the window. I climbed over clothing on the floor to get to the night. I leaned towards the opening of the window and bent my neck outwards, my head now firmly amongst the air and spirits which roam against ones knowledge in a vacant, illustrious and altogether definitive night.
A sharp inhale through my nose, my mind was washed away, I was in a place where no one goes unless they have the ticket. Eyes closed, I held this breath for few seconds, consciously programming myself to be more than I was the day before, and out through my mouth was the departure of that cleansing, enthralling poison. I eyed the night afterwards, scanning for those who live with me, in my mind and through my life, a happy extention to my brooding lonliness.
I gasped and closed the window as quick as I could for I felt I had a thought, which could indefinitely lead to words, which would then lead to angelic escapism. Walking yet crawling back to my bed, in this dark, deathly room, with dark blues and blacks, shadowed memories and christened eras, I shouted as loud I could - something I cannot remember to this day.
I felt insanely beautiful, I cryed and died and wearily thought of a better time, in which I was no longer that person my mind rated and doubted but a person who would attract all and everyone in its path for it's, or his, indulgence in life and release and pure everythingness. I hummed across the corners on this morgue to smell upon a notepad, penless, wordless, new and potentially genius. I couldn't find it and I fell down. My mind dipped from it's peak, crashing to the ground but not killing me... I had seen upon it's whereabouts as the result of plead, to a person you cannot see, but a person only with me, and loud as he is, he'll never be seen.
And in that I began to write, for 4 long, painful hours, in redded pen, eyes closed, deep scarring of the pages, I filled an entire notebook with everything in my mind, everything not in my mind and the worries and endless questions provoked through thought and progression, dosed in paranoia and general humanness which all of us want to ignore and leave behind in this adoring yet questionable phase of existence.
As the early morning and the various rising beings rose to the clean slate of another identical day I burnt that notebook in my hallway, in a steel, mourning bucket, for only sinners to read and in a rupture of smoke and hazy wording, my life was complete, yet it had never been so empty.
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It's better to do something you regret rather than regretting not doing something about it.
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