the nonsensical musings of a clueless twenty something

“Free Form Stream of Consciousness” … Sort of.

The words are stuck.

This frustrating need to exhale, to deflate the balloons

folded in my

chest. Pinned together with this unexplained and mind-numbingly

selfish feeling of loneliness. Of first-world problems and this unrecognizable,

terrifying need to feel.


Soothing, generated warmth. Fluttering sensations in the space

between floating ribs and the blood or oxygen that pumps and promotes

the simplistic complications of living.

This ache for release. The creation of table-top sacrifice.

The real-life existence of existence outside of the body.

I can be anything. Tell me

what would be good enough 

to influence, to persuade the pinning down of 

some tangible

form of permanence. Some unswaying promise

that the steadying force and conversation and bubble

of recognizable comfort, the warmth of space

filled between my fingers, will still




of the things we are

unaware of. Of each other. Of

the unexpected and gloriously surprising dips

and dives or reckless bends

of time and lack of



Until then, though, tell me

he was foolish. That he chose wrong. That I could 

have been everything good for his life.

Tell me who I am will

at some point be what the right person bends and breaks

and sacrifices for.

That there are still dimly-lit wine-induced utterances

that will be acknowledged, held,  kept.

That every person isn’t a lesson in refinement.


I want so badly to believe

like I did prior to knowing better.

Without second thoughts or expected outcomes.

Hurtling face-first and heart-forward over

cliff sides. Blindfolded. Like the first time you ever believed

in anything all.

This entry was published on September 11, 2011 at 9:19 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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