Midnight thoughts & thunders
I don’t like to acknowledge days like these; grey,bland days.
I love seesawing between euphoric enlightenment and the crash that inevitably follows
I like it either really dark so that I could hide in its embrace
or really bright so that I can run across fields and meadows
But on grey days like this I feel…insignificant
I catch myself forcing a writing session
like trying to set a forest on fire with a single ember
my expression becomes pompous and hollow
I’m pretentious, using words that don’t resonate with my emotions,
to cover up my abject simplicity, my mundaneness which I’m ashamed of.
I’m merely a ghost writer for my heart, and it hasn’t prompted me, so-
I end up saying too much and making no sense at all
Empty words, like empty calories
I feel empty of meaning, full of nothingness
My heart is awfully silent, and verbose echoes fill the silence with trite chit chat.
you see? I hate this. I don’t want to listen to myself because the silence is deafening,defeating,detrimental to my illusions.
f*ck this, i’ll go to sleep. x_x zzz