Jack's Twisted Kingdom
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2011-01-21 13:03:29 (UTC)

gazing over futility's edge

how can you be something for someone when you don't know, and aren't
sure of who you are, or where you're going, or what you want to be?
there's always that moment, that singular, obstinate conundrum when
you attempt to be something for someone else, be it their companion
through the cold nights, their shining star, their guide, friend,
confidant, lover...

I don't know what I am, I know what I was, I know what I've
transitioned from, a fairly dark, lost soul, who's wandered out into
the bright of the sun, blinded and holding a hand up with one eye
open. unsure of where you are, or where you're going, but always
knowing where you've been. there are certain truths you must hang on
to, and they are simply, you are who you are at this moment based on
whats come before, you can't go back, you can never go home, and even
if you could, why would you want to?

I would crawl through a mile of broken glass right now for a kiss, a
tender, soft, impassioned kiss, a kiss from lips longing for
attention, starved of fire, and that singular, moment in time, would
be all the worthwhile. I would. but I cannot. and it comes to the
question of, when I can, will I make the attempt to do so. I would,
this is truth, go, but you have to wonder, it does take two to tango,
all the old cliches get drawn and bandied about, suffer the longing,
as it were. and so I shall. long for it.

I know what I need to do, it'll be months before I'm, even close to
being ready, I'm procrastinating, mostly out of worry of my
impetuousness, cracking off whats left of my shattering romantic
heart, it's bleeding furor gushing along the rose bushes. it's all
that push/pull mentality fraught with uncertainty. in all seriousness,
I believe there to be the burning embers waiting to be gently blown
upon with a whisper of lust, yet my heart burns black, dreaming in
nightmarish clarity of yet more disappointment.

so, I'm going to do, what I want to. choices in the next few weeks
will plunge me over the abyss, or perhaps I'll land on my feet. we'll
see. weeks will turn into months. spring into summer. summer into
autumn, and perhaps, in autumn, I shall gaze upon a set of glimmering
eyes, searching them out for whatever answers I seek then. I laud
nothing, I expect less, I'm doing this for me, I need this, I just
wish I had some sign of, wanton abandon, a comfort of unshackled
parlance, we shall see, indeed, we shall see.

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