Walking through those familiar places,
Old, calm and at peace.
With nothing to do.
Alone and empty.
An empty person in this empty world.
Nature in my gaze.
It’s mere existence without realisation,
Without reason, without knowing.
Walking in familiar the memories and mirages.
Flashes of a time once been,
The sun once shone.
A shadow once placed.
All left, and passing, when walking through those familiar places.
Been worrying all day today, all day yesterday when not hanging out with my closest friend.
I’m stepping to the crossroads, total uncertainty and now a lot of time to comprehend the step into darkness. With nothing for certain and feeling alone. Totally alone. No matter what friends or family say to me.
Alcohol is a distraction, not a good one, I still see my procrastination, but feel paralysed by uncertainty, loneliness and fear. I focus on doing small tasks like washing just to feel calm or sane. Can’t wait to get back to work, to distract myself. I can’t do both.
My laptop not working is also stressing me out as I can’t get to job searching or applications and feel paralysed by mood and actuality alike.
Always panicking, not able to cope, always looking for distraction. I knew I would hate this degree. For giving me uncertainty and time to worry about that uncertainty. Something I couldn’t afford to before my last assessment.
Now I’m left drifting alone, in the sea of uncertainty. Fearful, alone and afraid.
Been given Stoner by a very close friend, it is one of her favourite books. I treasure the thought. This is the present was behind my poem Little Gift From The Heart.
Read only the first part but it is a very intense book. It’s very thought provoking and I’m only a bit of the way through it. Another poem I wrote about it is called Realisation.
14 pages in:
The book so far speaks to me. About reality and strife, the meaning to be found in a meaningless reality. Is the meaning an illusion? Within a meaningless reality. Why suffer the toil and strife for an endless round of meaningless existing. The work done in the book being more difficult and strife than my own, but then that extends the meaning of the story. Only like 14 pages in when writing this.
Realisation, of that reality.
The difficulty and strife,
The oncoming differences,
The hopes dashed before mature,
The toil and strain for nought.
The desperation seen in a little glass.
The demon seen within the mirror.
The uncertainty, stress and strife.
A reminder of that blank page,
That unwritten meaning.
The confused existence
And spinning endless.
This realisation, hit like a rock,
Lingering, throbbing, an ever-subtle reminder.
Ever going pain.
The realisation of reality.
It’s painful mark left upon my skin.
The realisation, of
The toil and strife all for a page gone blank.
Given the chance,
To make my own,
To outstretch this feeling,
Escape the being.
Be in bliss.
If given the chance to make my own.
Given the chance to escape my emptiness.
Given the chance. To be myself.
To be free.
Given the chance.
Oh I wish to be given the chance.
I wish to be. Given the chance.