imagine

Posted on | February 13, 2010 | Comments Off

Life is a shining whirlpool of self -destruction.

There is no drive. If I had enough money

to kill myself, I would. Thats a paradox.

There is one way- the way to freedom.

There is a void, and in that void there is

someone. That someone calls out

loud-perhaps. Or perhaps doesnt call out

at all. I wish they would, I long to hear

a voice. Somewhere. Somehow. Sometime.

Too much alcohol. Too little time. Too

much of a daze to bother. Too much love.

And too much loneliness. Too much

forgetting. And too much still remembered.

Life is lived in its excesses, between

fragments of routine.

Can we just go somewhere where we can sit

and talk? Can we talk. Ever?

Illusions. We live in illusions. Of too

little, and too much. Too late. Or never.

Let us sing. Sometime. Let us dance to The

Second Coming. Let us get mad, and tap our

feet to desolation- the void in which the

beast will be born.

Let us end the stories. There is no time.

None at all.

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