I woke up this morning thinking about my repressed pains. Seems like I tend to recluse and suppress myself in my thoughts; becoming shy and withdrawn. Making myself a hermit. And I despise isolation and being alone. I HATE it with a passion. I guess there are a lot of people out there that feel this way- but it’s also a different feeling in each person. Have you ever gotten the image of seeing yourself floating in a dreamless idiom above yourself- looking down as you examine your moves and wonder how you do things? Seeing for the first time the sadness lurking on your face, the pain in your own eyes, the slumping of your shoulders- wishing that you could place your hands on that child like angelic face looking into your own eyes for the very first time; whispering encouraging thoughts to the image you see, erasing all pain and replacing it with happiness?
I had a dream like that last night. I dreamt that I floated out of my real being and saw for the very first time what is really inside of the soul I saw, sitting here.
My fears are faceless horrors that lay waiting in the silent darkness of night and exist in the furthest reaches of my mind- hence why I write poems. My poems are my way of releasing my inner anxieties and I’m rambling about nothing again. I never make any sense.
Ugh. I get upset with myself when I can’t find a good topic to speak about and in the middle somewhere I feel like a psycho analyst or something. Fuck it. I’m going now- this whole entry is lame and pointless. I hope I get to see Steve today. I miss him.