|
39yrs • M •
A CTL of 1 means that Vortex271 is a contributing member of Captain Cynic.
|
|
9:18 |
Nine Eighteen in the evening 98 degrees outside my window. I'm a thousand miles from where once was home now a memory. The house is quiet. My two friends sleeping soundly but I'm awake. Awake. You've seen me before, read my words, some honest some lies. The timeline evident. Do the strings still work on this guitar? I don't remember the melodies but my fingers act of their own accord. I'm simply watching the words appear and agreeing with them. I've been analyzed by others and have spent my time analyzing myself and finding no serious defect. Merely a reassignment of cognitive function to another case. But I want to remember how to write. Remember to feel Remember to pause a moment in the rat race and smell that flower on the side of the road whose aroma mixes with the perfume of high-octane fuel. I stopped writing since I feared my words, feared my readers. feared myself. But I'm not afraid anymore. I can't go back to where I used to be but I can try to rekindle a spark of the earlier flame. I'm on again.
| Permalink
""As I sit before the fire, I wonder how many before myself have been burned.'"
|
|
|
39yrs • M •
A CTL of 1 means that Vortex271 is a contributing member of Captain Cynic.
|
Nine Eighteen in the evening 98 degrees outside my window. I'm a thousand miles from where once was home now a memory. The house is quiet. My two friends sleeping soundly but I'm awake. Awake. You've seen me before, read my words, some honest some lies. The timeline evident. Do the strings still work on this guitar? I don't remember the melodies but my fingers act of their own accord. I'm simply watching the words appear and agreeing with them. I've been analyzed by others and have spent my time analyzing myself and finding no serious defect. Merely a reassignment of cognitive function to another case. But I want to remember how to write. Remember to feel Remember to pause a moment in the rat race and smell that flower on the side of the road whose aroma mixes with the perfume of high-octane fuel. I stopped writing since I feared my words, feared my readers. feared myself. But I'm not afraid anymore. I can't go back to where I used to be but I can try to rekindle a spark of the earlier flame. I'm on again.
| Permalink
""As I sit before the fire, I wonder how many before myself have been burned.'"
|
|