just to type.
i want to feel some type of release from the heavy feeling.
want to feel some kind of accomplishment before i soon fall into this
temporary coma named sleep.
i’ve got bits and pieces of myself scattered across virtual pages,
i want to find myself complete in one place, in a simple location i want to be able to come and recognize my identity at it’s prime.
letting letters fill the space in my mind where nothing hides because behind each corner is emptiness now, when you open each door there stands a dark silhouette, nameless and empty listening to the songs they’ve played and i’ve heard.
fragile, i wouldn’t demand a glass case for this wanderer in the corner of my mind, because this silhouette is often thrown down and stepped upon, often bound up and wept on. because the tears that roll down your faces, and the tears that roll down mine, are no less rolling down the outlined identity in my head.
i never intended to make sense, but now i’m confusing myself, there are steps that one must take to feel a sense of accomplishment, and today i have skipped every other stair, like running away from a dark foyer with a glass of ice water in your hand.
Accepting This 