Friday, 11 January 2013

Not sure if i should write a poem about this. Fkng hate sad poetry. But tweets don't do it justice. Sometimes when I get sad, my world gets detached from reality - it gets small and far away and very calm, like an old, pleasant childhood memory. Only when I recover, does it grow back big around me. Books, dogs, tools, toys, people, it all becomes so very unreal, nay, fictional. Like characters in my favourite story. Like I song I just heard and strive to remember. but fading. The more sad I am, the further away I drift. Sometimes I just can't stop drifting. I could honestly just walk away. Nothing in my pockets, two days old socks, greasy hair under a too thin cap. And I would just keep walking. The further I got, the happier I would be with my "childhood memories". Perhaps there's a pill that people take to shun this sort of madness. I don't know. Once on the outside, it terrifies me. It's disarming how very alluring it is when within. It makes sense that the General says he would want to rip me apart and pull it out of me. But that's my beating heart. My running blood. As alive as I feel in progressive motion - feeling, I think, as the best version of myself - so he feels his strongest when standing very still. We are such fish and dung beetle. How did we ever fall so deeply in love in such perfect sync? Like two magnets, pulling a potent matter apart. Always meeting, always parting. Nonexistent if not in pair. Never happy. Never sad for long.