There’s too much air to breathe here.
A swirling mass of emptiness heaves through the crowd’s lungs.
Stop.
Won’t everyone just god ****
Someone sings at the bus stop just outside my window.
Wires hum, ignoring the melody that person has so carefully constructed.
A hiss.
Rising steam.
An abrupt end.
Another listless night.
A beetle flies in through my open window.
It takes me twenty minutes to help it back out.
I think about wandering the forest.
But am too scared to confront loneliness, and the frailty of human existence.
There is a gap forming already.
Here.
A dialectic that seeks to sublate my very identity.
Subsume those closest to me.
Until I am completely alone.
There is a bush down the street which is in bloom right now.
I think the sun is too hot.
The flowers are wilted.
And the pavement is littered with dead bees.
Voices.
An exchange.
A language game.
Two horizons meet, merge, melt.
‘Wait--’
The horizons drop.
If only for a moment.
And the abyss is revealed.
The only universal in this world is that we are all alone.
Trapped in our own understanding.
Forever interpreting one another.
I am waiting for the day the wind carries me out the window.
Perhaps it will never come.
Perhaps I will live a long boring life amongst friends, family, and all those people I despise.
Oh well.
No point, either way.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 8:40 AM UTC
There’s too much air to breathe here.
A swirling mass of emptiness heaves through the crowd’s lungs.
Stop.
Won’t everyone just god ****
Someone sings at the bus stop just outside my window.
Wires hum, ignoring the melody that person has so carefully constructed.
A hiss.
Rising steam.
An abrupt end.
Another listless night.
A beetle flies in through my open window.
It takes me twenty minutes to help it back out.
I think about wandering the forest.
But am too scared to confront loneliness, and the frailty of human existence.
There is a gap forming already.
Here.
A dialectic that seeks to sublate my very identity.
Subsume those closest to me.
Until I am completely alone.
There is a bush down the street which is in bloom right now.
I think the sun is too hot.
The flowers are wilted.
And the pavement is littered with dead bees.
Voices.
An exchange.
A language game.
Two horizons meet, merge, melt.
‘Wait--’
The horizons drop.
If only for a moment.
And the abyss is revealed.
The only universal in this world is that we are all alone.
Trapped in our own understanding.
Forever interpreting one another.
I am waiting for the day the wind carries me out the window.
Perhaps it will never come.
Perhaps I will live a long boring life amongst friends, family, and all those people I despise.
Oh well.
No point, either way.
2:36am, January 22nd 2016
Lacuna lacuna lacuna.
Death death death.
Was was was.
Is is is.
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