111812 -- Lose It
Nov. 18th, 2012 10:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
memorialrainbowInsanity.
How do you define it? Is it the loss of your senses? The inability to remember who you are, who your loved ones are? Or is it when you try to redefine the parameters to what they were previously defined to be, only to have the plan fail time and time again? To stand at the crossroads and declare, "This is how it should be."
And to be turned away.
"We're sorry that you're not qualified for your own job."
"I love you, but this just isn't going to work out."
Expectations are shattered, and I shiver in the heat of my room, stifling and suffocating and can it all just end now? But I'm not an idiot, and everybody knows by this point I'm not an idiot. But it hurts. It hurts so much, like I'm falling in the sky and I can't stop.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
But it never is. It always comes out of left field, a whisper of "what are you doing here?" and then it hurts like a broken promise and you're not there, you don't care. And it all shatters, and it collapses, and I pick up the pieces and I become normal again and everything is perfect and pretty and I add one more color to the collection.
And the voice echoes out from the train tracks, "it's over." And everybody is happy.
But somewhere in the back room, she sits with her long purple hair and regalia, praying for a corrected timeframe, praying for patience and alignment and knowing God doesn't do anything foolishly. Maybe she knows the truth. Maybe nobody does. Maybe I'm just making things up as I go along. But maybe this is real. Maybe I really am an expert at this.
Maybe God doesn't play tricks.
What are you fighting for? If you lose that, that's when you hit insanity. You stop being yourself. You start being somebody else. For me, I've discovered that it's my writing. To stray from that dream is to pursue insanity, to follow a blind path of the wolf. Yes, I still have my music, but my dream to be a writer should always be right there, in front of me, something I should chase.
If I take a six train, I'll be too late
Don't be afraid; take me with you!
Just snatch your questions out of midair.
It's not that simple, although it is. It's messed up, but it's all right. Everybody gets happy endings but me. I'm the one with the misaligned destiny, who wants to be a writer but should be a musician but is neither so shame on her. And in the end, I'm used as a friend and nothing means anything and I'm just playing but I'm not. I'm honest, but nobody cares, and I get nowhere, and I can't perform, and you lose your patience. I become a friend. Just a friend. And the door is closed, and I lose my worth, and I fade away. A doll. A tool. And the five train arrives at Flatbush Avenue, right on time.
I have a message for the world: everything gets better. If you're caught in a tough situation, just believe it will be fine. And that's great. Because I can give advice about these types of things, but I know that it'll never happen to me. Not even the dropped bass can save me now.
It's okay. It will all go away.
You will go away.
As it always happens.
How do you define it? Is it the loss of your senses? The inability to remember who you are, who your loved ones are? Or is it when you try to redefine the parameters to what they were previously defined to be, only to have the plan fail time and time again? To stand at the crossroads and declare, "This is how it should be."
And to be turned away.
"We're sorry that you're not qualified for your own job."
"I love you, but this just isn't going to work out."
Expectations are shattered, and I shiver in the heat of my room, stifling and suffocating and can it all just end now? But I'm not an idiot, and everybody knows by this point I'm not an idiot. But it hurts. It hurts so much, like I'm falling in the sky and I can't stop.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
But it never is. It always comes out of left field, a whisper of "what are you doing here?" and then it hurts like a broken promise and you're not there, you don't care. And it all shatters, and it collapses, and I pick up the pieces and I become normal again and everything is perfect and pretty and I add one more color to the collection.
And the voice echoes out from the train tracks, "it's over." And everybody is happy.
But somewhere in the back room, she sits with her long purple hair and regalia, praying for a corrected timeframe, praying for patience and alignment and knowing God doesn't do anything foolishly. Maybe she knows the truth. Maybe nobody does. Maybe I'm just making things up as I go along. But maybe this is real. Maybe I really am an expert at this.
Maybe God doesn't play tricks.
What are you fighting for? If you lose that, that's when you hit insanity. You stop being yourself. You start being somebody else. For me, I've discovered that it's my writing. To stray from that dream is to pursue insanity, to follow a blind path of the wolf. Yes, I still have my music, but my dream to be a writer should always be right there, in front of me, something I should chase.
If I take a six train, I'll be too late
Don't be afraid; take me with you!
Just snatch your questions out of midair.
It's not that simple, although it is. It's messed up, but it's all right. Everybody gets happy endings but me. I'm the one with the misaligned destiny, who wants to be a writer but should be a musician but is neither so shame on her. And in the end, I'm used as a friend and nothing means anything and I'm just playing but I'm not. I'm honest, but nobody cares, and I get nowhere, and I can't perform, and you lose your patience. I become a friend. Just a friend. And the door is closed, and I lose my worth, and I fade away. A doll. A tool. And the five train arrives at Flatbush Avenue, right on time.
I have a message for the world: everything gets better. If you're caught in a tough situation, just believe it will be fine. And that's great. Because I can give advice about these types of things, but I know that it'll never happen to me. Not even the dropped bass can save me now.
It's okay. It will all go away.
You will go away.
As it always happens.
