2004-03-05
Torment
Grab your black coat and begin to walk under the moon's cold glare. Under a streetlight, and wait...patiently, very patiently.
What do I do, if not get thrashed by the raging winds? At times it would be much easier to just let blood drip, and see the dull world fade into blackness--my own desperate sense of "nobodiness".
So why couldn't I be Kierkegaard and Thoreau, I said once that I could. But I suppose that it is much easier for to deny the wine that is not offered. What do I write now? A poem?
Death is the great equalizer, and love...but what is love exactly? Hating it is what kept me alive, and what fed a fire. But what do I do now? Pace the cold floors of my hallway? My bare pattering all about--pacing rhythmically back and forth. Torment is the impetus for living...it makes one noble.
I am tormented...ultimately I am. I am not depressed, I do not care for death or life, but I am tormented because I am the very representation of folly. I am the very image of stupidity. I am the one type of being that does not deserve to taste life...I am human.
Tormented, I lay at night tormented. My sheets scatter and twist, sometimes choking my waist.