Where are my desires?
Where is that book I've needed to write for a year?
My writing ability is deteriorating with every passing day. Soon I'll be unable to write at all.
Where is the success that I am told that I have achieved?
In some abstract corner? An imaginary variable.
Where is the freedom I long for most?
With every passing day- it is further from me than the last.
Where is my art?
All I see is lazy bastardization and cliche... my lack of technical skill infuriates me- yet I do not have the time to practice.
Where is my science?
I did not think that this would be something I'd lose... but... where am I. Lost in a confusion of equations and evaluations, I no longer thirst for knowledge in the same way. Blame coaching, perhaps.
Where is my body?
I've lost it already- and to the least interesting desire of the flesh.
Where is my Mind?
I used to like thinking of myself as a deep, mysterious personality- Yet all I find is blank space and an empty soul. Maybe I just don't want to think any more... it's too painful, self-destructive.
Funny how I can't seem to reconcile the roles of actor and observer.
Where is my Love?
Fucking some guy quite regularly, no doubt.
Seriously though... even doing things is getting boring.
For now, I'll bury these doubts under the badly formed strumming of my guitar.
2 comments:
Now this is something i have been feeling recently too. I wanted to do so much. And even started quite a few projects. But procrastination and laziness claimed me.
I'm hoping there is yet a chance. From the flames a phoenix may arise. Although more like the burnt pigeon won't ever flap a wing again.
The winter promises a fresh lease of life. Let us pray that new leaves grow where the old ones have withered.
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