Break To Re-Make
When love turns to hate, and the word 'break' sounds more appealing then 'make', doing something mundane, like making lists, is just a fucking waste of time. How many times do I have to say that before it gets through your thick head? I'm sick of standing still. I'm sick of playing it safe. I'm so sick of always, always dreaming.
Why can't I have what I want for once?
I'm shaking through this longing (a withdrawal from something I've never had), and tracing this endless circle around and around and around. And these lines may be what make me (not break me), but I'm beginning to wish there was a way to erase ink. To erase what this solitude has made me into. I want a blank slate.
And words soothe the itch of my restless mind, but they do nothing to ease the longing of a soul locked inside. (cliché, I know, but I'm desperate for something, something, something to break me. only then will someone be able me re-make me.)
Until then, my friend, keep your sermons to yourself.
I'm not ready to believe (in anything) yet.