Alone and with so much love to give, but the only human being open to it has been silent for the past few hours. Hours that seem like the distance between us.
Thursday, October 23, 2014
grindcore and hand-rolled cigarettes
The wind blows outside my window, a cold breeze to match the sheltered mask I've put on since my arrival to school. Is it apathy or a subconscious narcissism that snakes its way in my conscious that outs me above my peers, yet my existence is like the scum between the ridges of their combat leather boots. A front that reads "do not enter" is clear as day and brilliant minds alike read it like they take in the lecture of their most interesting class. Solitude and longing intimacy for the one human being that holds in his being my utmost and best side of my persona. Salty tears fall over the small pile of tobacco that is left from a brick-sized bag, a pile of cigarettes next to it and farther to the right is a darkened cell phone that has been inactive for hours, unlike my running thoughts and whimpers.