pieces

My life is fueled by feelings and emotions of others. Lost in music, words and moves and experiences of others I live my life lost, moving in no direction, trying to assert my hollow rented self on everyone.

Hoping to find a hidden talent, a lost genius, that perfect life for myself i throw away the present into ignorance and arrogance.

meanings

it now takes great effort, writing-putting down more than plain facts. Life spilled out onto paper easily before corruption of my self with a bloated ego. To publisize thoughts, demand credit, attract attention. i am cought in the strugle to be better, better so that others take notice. More than words, it is required to fill pages with meanings. Not to emphasize the self but to breathe life into prose.The 'I' floods all meaning obscuring the object of life. Putting all feelings and emotions under a veil of narsicism.

prodigal Echoes

that man is having fun in life, where am I, me fucked, me bad, me wasting life. NO. forget it, i am better in some ways. I am but, living a futile fucked up life, where i have nothing real to cherish, nothing expect tangibles to look forward to, i buy to hoard, wishing that i will be content, the pain but only grows, the objects loose shine.

Can I do nothing, can it not turn to good, can i not change something...anything.

I will do what i always do, write some words, not tied together, lost in a false hope that i will be heard, that someone is there, i know better, but only for a few minutes, loose hope and move into words, words without meaning.

Sinking slowly into the smoke, he lost the world, pushed out of existence he longed for a light , a hope to hang onto. Morning dreams turned remained so, leaving no reason for his being. Something had to turn, change essential, life was out, death not feared. writing away anger and emotion he had no substance. life had been, but hopes died and soon after all that was left was a hazy existence in confusion struggling to come to terms with the self. Time had to be lost, feelings lost in incomprehensible lines of agony to drag life ahead. but ahead had lost meaning, only the present remained, a perpetual misery, to wade through...alone.


it is the same words, always the same, i'm lost in my own life, what am i trying to do, i hate the person in the mirror, or..... do i even know that stranger. maybe, maybe not, i don;t know. Anything.

maybe i have nothing else to do. Maybe this is how i let time pass by.

life MUST mean. talent. fun. skill. work. make sense. please mean something to me.

I just do NOT Understand. Am i fooling myself. or am i just a fool

to little too late

am i wicked. well i thought i was ugly, stupid, dumb, worthless, boring and more before that. but anyways everybody has a point of view. and yes I give out negative vibes. i've enough instances to prove my point. but what can be changed, turned around. and why do i tell you. maybe i need support, maybe but i think not. Why can i not keep it to myself and be okay with it. i know these words are a formula, a known, of teenage angst and confusion, and that i've physically grown over it, this is pedestrian. but holding back the urge defeats the purpose of this space.

date incorrect.