Forever doomed to sickness not unto death but unto life. My life is my possession. I live in the now and am influenced by the past, tippy tapping my toes to the future bent- -I once resolved not to live my life to the prescriptions of others--yet I gobbled up the pills and wore my heart on my sleeve,I ended up swallowed and dissolved, skin burnt by unfriendly sunshine smiling rays; unsmiling, yet quick to toss out assorted sardonic bon mots/quips/kind words like a grenade in a pen full of puppies. I once was the twilight, now just the tragic; I like black sunglasses...you can find me laying on the floor shattered like glass--handle me with care--I can't promise not to cut, but I can try to try.
I once said: "Maybe we can be friends, maybe we can pretend? Swirl the paint in the can and the hidden panoply of colors dwell hidden, black and white swirls to the top in wisps, displaying me as you very well may want to see me, which could be true and all or not, however I may catch your eye; in my darkness there's a true light to be shed. I dwell in the past,(I've learned from my mistakes and I'm sure I can repeat them exactly.) while staring forward with squinted eyes, hunched shoulders, hands in pockets--maybe I haven't been in the sun long enough--live to die, die to live, you know how it goes. Twenty four going on one hundred and one, the (I think I ran out of ambition at 24... Indolent. I see nothing wrong with that.) aggravation of not knowing only causes the hassle of being to itch the more: plenty of time on my hands, save yourself the trouble and take everything I say personal, good or bad...blow the candle out, don't waste your time on me; this high school dropout knows there's no equal, no equivalence, tall tales put to rest on a shelf to collect dust. I am who I am, someone has to be: "I'm tragically an only twin" and meant every single word.
So go on, tongue the ridge to your pallet to activate the kaleidoscopic rainbow-like glow to your eyes, much like the same as a CD in the sun, and I'll strike a pose with arms crossed waiting for the day when something/one or other will pronounce me "doomed to sickness not unto death but unto life". 10:17 P.M.
February 23, Two Thousand Seven C.E.
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