there something that needs to be said about overdoing things. we beocme numb, senseless and driven by this compulsion to need more.filters of our own worlds, except that we filter other people. WE become good at it experts they say. Experts at seperating the weak from the strong in but meer seconds. a picture a maneurism a comment sets them apart. No substance just pure lust. I see alot of them, objects they become. some stay while alot get rejected. sad but also a reflection on me. on us. on this space we call a place. FEw are the judicators while many are the judged upon... the contenders.
some pretend they dont know her, ask her where shes from. but they know they remember... who can forget such a face. Yet im still here alone. While she gets the glory i seek, nothing comes my way. Only dirty old faces. nothing of my desire from which i grew from her.
I in turn become numb from her misdoings from her many rejections that spew out like casualties from a battlefield. The wounded and the sore. She becomes me. she is. little miss redemption.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment