Friday, June 25, 2004
Not a cry for help, nor a plea for sympathy...
The pulsing of my heart wrenches on...slowly. Its beats seem to thump in complete irregularity. My heart, like my spirit, is crushed: defeated. My air ways are open but my throat hates the oxygen, it begins to close in on itself as a way of self-destruction. It hurts to swallow down a mouth full of nothing, I ponder how much more the pain of taking town a life's pride. Feeling is fleeting from my limbs and eyes as things are becoming numb now Nothingness is painful and powerful and unwilling to let its friends go. Love, though a forgotten feeling, becomes useful again as I'd love to cry and let it go...but theres nothing and no reason to try...
People think you can just turn it on and always be what they know you can be. People think they know so much and tell you what you're doing wrong and that it will all be worth it someday, but they don't know the pressures of 'knowing' you'll suceed. Matt Moore, a name that has all the makings to demand attention, but only garnishes whispered 'could have beens' and 'dissapointments'. Being talented is the greatest blessing in the world. LOOK HOW SPECIAL YOU ARE... deep down inside look how special I am. A person who can do anything...resorting to nothing. A person they are jealous of...a person defeated and broken. Words cannot express my pain. Words cannot conjure up these emotions. But no one will ever understand this pain because I'm talented and everything goes my way that me feeling depressed is just stupid when I have all of these things going for me...what things I ask...what things...the constant thoughts that I'm a failure? Yeah, you want to be jealous of me...be jealous of that. You don't know what pain is. defeat.
He lit his cigarette and placed it to his lips, but his eyes stared off at the adjacent wall...questioning...questing. With a flaking scratch he put the cigarette out on the green felt placement atop the oak desk top, suddenly pausing this circular motion of his right hand as his eye's apperature refocused joining his mouths upward slant of facial expression. "It's a chemical reaction!" he exclaimed to the empty office, his eyes scrolling about the bookshelves like a professor lecturing to a panel. "The striking of the primer creates the spark that when united with blackpowder creates an explosion! this kenetic energy contained in the short cylinder creates a pressure that is too much for the small brass casing to withstand creating a projectile the cylinder's head while leaving the brass casing and signs of a chemical change there to waft around each other far behind the point of impact! Of course!" With that he opened his upper right desk drawer, and after rifling through several loose papers he produced a small black item which he gingerly caressed with the care generally reserved for a father to a son. Shifing the item to his right hand, his wrist alerted him to the weight of the item calling him to stiffen that wrist to properly support the weight as a gentleman would. He smiled as he cleared the remaining items off his desk, his eyes attempting to avoid such words as "talented, finest, request, granduer, and best" for he knew such words would take him from his current state and as dorthy had, would place him in a land he didn't care to be in. His smile continued as he decided to forget about what he should have become, as his eyes chose to remember those earlier days when everything was right...the thundering echo rang out through the oak trimmed walls bouncing off each corner as if franticly searching for someone's concern...they found none.
The pulsing of my heart wrenches on...slowly. Its beats seem to thump in complete irregularity. My heart, like my spirit, is crushed: defeated. My air ways are open but my throat hates the oxygen, it begins to close in on itself as a way of self-destruction. It hurts to swallow down a mouth full of nothing, I ponder how much more the pain of taking town a life's pride. Feeling is fleeting from my limbs and eyes as things are becoming numb now Nothingness is painful and powerful and unwilling to let its friends go. Love, though a forgotten feeling, becomes useful again as I'd love to cry and let it go...but theres nothing and no reason to try...
People think you can just turn it on and always be what they know you can be. People think they know so much and tell you what you're doing wrong and that it will all be worth it someday, but they don't know the pressures of 'knowing' you'll suceed. Matt Moore, a name that has all the makings to demand attention, but only garnishes whispered 'could have beens' and 'dissapointments'. Being talented is the greatest blessing in the world. LOOK HOW SPECIAL YOU ARE... deep down inside look how special I am. A person who can do anything...resorting to nothing. A person they are jealous of...a person defeated and broken. Words cannot express my pain. Words cannot conjure up these emotions. But no one will ever understand this pain because I'm talented and everything goes my way that me feeling depressed is just stupid when I have all of these things going for me...what things I ask...what things...the constant thoughts that I'm a failure? Yeah, you want to be jealous of me...be jealous of that. You don't know what pain is. defeat.
He lit his cigarette and placed it to his lips, but his eyes stared off at the adjacent wall...questioning...questing. With a flaking scratch he put the cigarette out on the green felt placement atop the oak desk top, suddenly pausing this circular motion of his right hand as his eye's apperature refocused joining his mouths upward slant of facial expression. "It's a chemical reaction!" he exclaimed to the empty office, his eyes scrolling about the bookshelves like a professor lecturing to a panel. "The striking of the primer creates the spark that when united with blackpowder creates an explosion! this kenetic energy contained in the short cylinder creates a pressure that is too much for the small brass casing to withstand creating a projectile the cylinder's head while leaving the brass casing and signs of a chemical change there to waft around each other far behind the point of impact! Of course!" With that he opened his upper right desk drawer, and after rifling through several loose papers he produced a small black item which he gingerly caressed with the care generally reserved for a father to a son. Shifing the item to his right hand, his wrist alerted him to the weight of the item calling him to stiffen that wrist to properly support the weight as a gentleman would. He smiled as he cleared the remaining items off his desk, his eyes attempting to avoid such words as "talented, finest, request, granduer, and best" for he knew such words would take him from his current state and as dorthy had, would place him in a land he didn't care to be in. His smile continued as he decided to forget about what he should have become, as his eyes chose to remember those earlier days when everything was right...the thundering echo rang out through the oak trimmed walls bouncing off each corner as if franticly searching for someone's concern...they found none.
