[Have I found you? Flightless bird, jealous, weeping; Or lost you?]

Dracofangxxx's picture

I prayed that everything should work out

I promise,
I really did.

I really, really, did.

(Please hear me out)

I've never been a religious person,
Always half-assing
my prayers,
Selfish, selfish prayers

I never, once,
prayed to thank, prayed for others;

But I do now,
no, not because I believe,
But because if He's there, and He listens,
I need him to help.
(Maybe it's not me- Maybe it's him that needs help. And I know He can help him get that help)

It's my thoughts sailing lazily like paper lanters that makes me forget,
but you,
tie my thoughts down to anchors of broken hearts aweigh in my misty fear,
and they sink my hopes,

(I've always wanted to ride a boat in the sunset-
Bitter seaweed air with a touch of seagull,
and maybe whale, accompanied by the sunset)

I've always wished I could sing a song to you, but the words don't make sense,
They get stuck in my mouth, a word-traffic jam,
I pick them out with stupid, awkward pauses
(I used that in an essay once,
Do not think badly of me
for regurgitating it)

I love the enter key
I tie it to a chair, and rape it
I use it
More than it ever wants to be used, because
it's mine, and my thought flows this way

and I know that Stop,
It may never make sense Stop,
To anybody, who doesn't know what I mean by this Stop,

It's like a telegram, those old letters Stop,
That we used to use, but in my mind Stop.

Stop, Stop, Stop.

Stop this ride I'm on, I want to get off and throw up a little bit.

Sometimes I think I just want to commit suicide for a month or two- then come back when whatever's bothing me
Has gone and forgot about what I said
and maybe, has felt bad-
I want to pause life and just walk around and see
What my friends say about me
Behind my back-

(Although, I'm scared, too)

Some days, I am a little more insane than normal
and I feel like writing,
My writing doesn't make sense
And even though it doesn't make sense, frankly
It feels good, to write it, because it feels right.

Yes, yes.

It feels very right.

[And they will see us waving from such great heights;
"Come down now;"
They'll say...
But everything looks perfect,
From far away.
"Come down now;"
They'll say...]

(I often quote songs
Not because I want you to
think I wrote them, oh no,
But because I can't get them
Out of the wrinkled mass of electrified brain
cells

And they feel oh-so-appropriate amongst my
Deranged ramblings)