the net of many vines
"Such bright blood is a ray enkindled
Of that sun, in heaven that shines
And has been left behind entangled
And caught in the net of many vines."
- Francesco Redi
The last thing I've ever wanted is to die. I'm
perpetually scared of death. and maybe that's because of
the confusion of life so far.
I've done a 180 so many times I don't know which side is
up. I've read alot of books. And at one point in time (i
know this is silly), I think I actually thought that those
books helped me figure out who inhabits my skin.
Why is being human so confusing? Is it age that makes it
this way... is 17 going on 18 that age when everything true
seems false and vice versa? ... I just don't get my
I used to crave love. To love... To be loved... To be
loving... and yet, here i am. Confused as to what it feels
like to feel... and if I've felt it yet, I do not know.
I remember so many occasions in these past few years when
I could recite the names of those who I thought cared on my
fingers and toes... and it's like I've always been
told, "The only ones who care about you are in your blood."
Well, that only adds to the confusion. Like, why do I
still look at pictures and think to myself, "I loved those
people... did they ever or just stop loving me because I
got boring... or was one of those 180's I pulled disgusting
enough in their eyes to stop feeling anything when they
looked at me?" ........
Another question... When did I stop getting inspiration?
Why can't I write something real to save my life
anymore? ... Is it because I'm so wrecked and worn down
that I can't concentrate on the words? ...
I sat down tonight by my phone and wanted to call on those
that used to make me want to write all night long... and
either, I didn't get an answer... or knew in my heart that
I couldn't actually give them a reason as to why I was
calling... so i just didn't.
I realized that I'm looking at so many people that are now
in my life... with bitter resentment... do they know me...
do they care to know me anymore? ... i don't know...
I want to go some where and scream. and then figure out
things... like myself, for instance. I want to cry my eyes
out and know some kind of answers.
With bitter angst,