fishbowl (400 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1 on 11 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by ih8u2man (View user info) at 2007-07-28 18:21:46 EDT
There's important issues to discuss.
To argue and hate.
Make mistakes.
Total financial turmoil.
Limited by economics.
Essential growth,
potential Armageddon.
Beside my papers is the fish.
Gold scales.
Turning, left.
Always left.
In a dizzying display of repetition,
like me - he carries on.
Wait to eat.
Looking for a new way out.
Something real.
Looking for a revolution, but nothing ever happens.
Watching shadows on the ceiling as the cars cross the intersection down below me.
It's a misshapen day.
My mind seems incomplete. Lacking the ability to place context on anything.
Stare at the floor.
Listen to the cars.
Play the guitar.
I stare off into the corners of this room.
At the couch we once sat in.
Thinking of the laughter, the fullness of the sound.
A warm blanket of communication,
though flawed.
Ripped seams and full of holes.
Now the room is cold.
Alone with the fish.
Left turn.
My legs are useless.
Rigid, atrophied.
I light a cigarette. The filter is bright gold...like my companion.
Thin gray trails snake upwards.
I close my eyes. I turn my head to the left. I open my eyes for a new perspective.
Hours now are endless, meaningless.
Television hurts the nerve endings, retinas clinch.
I sporadically twitch, and calm my mood with beer.
Violence could occur at any moment.
The fridge struggles and hums in this heat.
I should unplug it.
It's empty.
I look over at my magazines.
At the articles I've cut out and kept, as if I would need reference at some later, assumed time.
I see my existence.
Falling away from me, like a fading sun.
I follow my thoughts back to the willow trees of childhood.
The reflections off the water.
The boats.
The parties and food and...
but then too...
although I remember it as perfect,
it too was flawed.
Always secrets.
Someone didn't know, someone did.
However that's the now thinking back to then.
No more cigarettes.
I'm not going anywhere.
Not at this juncture.
No way. No how.
So I close my eyes.
And I think out loud,
about all the shit that I disgust.
Of level and degree.
Of rank and order.
Of harlot and sin.
Of pain and pleasure.
Emotions, like cold water flowing across your wrist bring you to numb.
There's only the papers, the pen and the companion now.
Numb to cycles outside of that.
Most cycles,
I open my eyes.
Most cycles.
Left turn.
Left turn.
Left turn.
Left turn.
User Reviews
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-07-29 16:46:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by Merlina (user info) at 2007-07-29 06:13:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
excellent
Submitted by SleepyStitch (user info) at 2007-07-29 02:50:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by Progr3ss (user info) at 2007-07-29 01:33:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Someone didn't know, someone did
----
I'm "borrowing" this.
Submitted by 8track (user info) at 2007-07-28 21:59:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
wtr im not fucking all of that
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2007-07-28 21:50:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by rob_berg (user info) at 2007-07-28 21:25:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
yes.
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2007-07-28 21:22:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by PioneerBill (user info) at 2007-07-28 20:23:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
"The mass of men," wrote Henry Thoreau, "lead lives of quiet desperation." "By a seeming fate, commonly called necessity, they are employed, as it says in an old book, laying up treasures which moth and rust will corrupt and thieves break through and steal. It is a fool's life, as they will find when they get to the end of it, if not before."
Submitted by d_prime (user info) at 2007-07-28 18:54:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
No Comment
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2007-07-28 18:49:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
just woke up