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Gone away world
If I could ever be honest-really honest with anyone, even myself What would I say? If I had the courage to pour myself out of this jelly-filled dough-nut body; What would I say and who would I say it to? If I were strong enough to let myself be real...deep down soul real with myself or this world, What couldnít I say about pain, love, fear, joy and shame? Is it possible that I would fall into a million tiny pieces as complicated and numerous as the very thoughts that haunt me, or would I generalize the world and my emotions into something sensible and sane? What would happen if I cried out with all the ferocity of loss and fear and emptiness? What might the neighbors think? Would they call the police, or my friends, or my mother? Would I break a window with my cry? Or scare the cat or lose myself in echoes after echoes of my souls sad voice? Would I be strong enough to bear a bit of it? What would happen if I told someone how much I want to be known? What would happen to the world if anyone were brave enough to empty their insanity to another and forget that we canít trust each other any more than we can trust ourselves? Oh, how I would love to coddle another soul. Hold it close in all of its ugliness and beauty and keep it safe and warm. Oh, how I wish I thought I could be trusted with another hearts happiness. How I wish I were more of a soul and less of a person. Its so much easier to sell our souls than it is to share them. How did we ever decide that this world makes sense? Jobs and clothes and the shallowest interactions. How could we ever find each other when all we know is this bumping, bumping, sometimes clinging, almost glimpsing gone away world? Could it be that we all deserve this life? Could it be that forgiveness and sincerity are foolish childrenís dreams? Could it be that we will never find our way? Could it be that we believe this world more than we believe in each other? How I would love to be brave enough to be weak in the world. Meek, mild and tender to the truth. The impossibility lies within our own inability to see ourselves broken and vulnerable. Even in our solitude we run from our own sad realities. ĖScared of our fear and mad at our anger. Cowards among the cowardly, pretending that strength is our protection and weakness our demise. What if I could see the emptiness that moves me-Reach out and touch it to feel what itís made of. So easy for someone else to sense it and make a home there, So much room to move around. ...Make yourself at home, stay a while - No- Stay forever. You canít leave now that my emptiness has become a home. What is it that I could do to make it a nicer place to be? Can I rearrange this space for you? Clean out the cobwebs that have settled there? Let me make my hole your home. Please , Please donít leave my emptiness. It needs you. But you only seemed to need it for such a short while. I suppose it got a little cramped in there. -Besides, it seems so easy for you to find another place to go. Empty, Empty ramblings. Empty space that believes its lost something it never had. Hungry, empty space that aches and yearns and seeks and destroys-in that particular order. Fill me up with food and beer and poison. Fill me with illusion and excitement and disaster...Never ending empty, empty black-hole-void; starving for a love I donít understand. Alien and foreign to this heart that does not know how to love its self. No teachers except the losses and misguided attachments that it gorges its self on over and over again. Empty calories that go straight to the hips. The same lessons never learned. Imitation progress in an illusion far more real than anything imagined or remembered. Picking scabs from old wounds to make them new again. Bleeding just enough to prove youíre still alive. I am alive, here, I am in this empty, gone away world.
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