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Array
(
[sid] => 79683
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The ends of the end of tomorrow
[time] => 2005-01-13 00:42:47
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => I'm tired. I'm sick. I feel so empty inside so full of life. I can smoke a cigarette, feel the nicotine surge through my veins, trace my brain. I can scorch the roof of my mouth on two day old pizza, greedily wolfing it down. I can feel thirst as i lay awake in bed, remembering all of the failures and accomplishments I've made in my life, remembering the way it used to be; how I've changed so much, perhaps blossomed, or wilted, or merely grown older. I can feel the tears rising, the pain that comes with pushing them down. I feel anger, sad anger, an empty rage rupturing my chest; driving my fingers, driving my thoughts. I am alone here, and even in my loneliness I can hear the screams and cries of a thousand forlorn. I can feel the disease, like vomit, creep into the shadows of a great burdening rift, and i can feel the laughter seep from my throat and it chokes me of my life, just like all of my books, and televisions and lovers and light. They are all choking me. And I, in turn, am choking them. I'm so drained. Nothing seems to matter anymore. If I'm here, if I'm not; if i live, if i die; if i stay or go; if i want to. It's all the same. Like walking in front of a car in the middle of some lonely highway, or some mid suburbia sidewalk ***** hole. Sure it all seems so painful, so trivial, so useless, but then the lights start to blind you and you raise up your hands and you realize that once the metal twists your body, grinds your bones, breaks your neck and leaves you laying on the pavement gasping for breath, you'll find a certain peace, serene, like waking up with no sound but the quiet hollowing of leaves. I've tried. I've done my best. I've opened my wrists and bled all over these pages, all over this keyboard, all over your sky and mine. I've burnt a hole in my chest, left scarred by the words I spew from my heart. I've left open the wounds for you to worm and writhe in and consume as if a delicacy. I've showed you heaven, you walked away. You forsake what I can never have. You take for granted, pillage and plunder. I will do no more. I will not write on your face again. I will not paint the day as sadly as remembered. I will only open my hand and wait outstretched for your children, take wing and fly to the ends of the end of tomorrow. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 155 [topic] => 48 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => EmotionalPoetry )
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