Down By The River
Ruin the good moments, it's all you're good for, down by the river, down by the water. The wind is angry today, violently whipping in the trees and taking the rubbish and lifting it high. This is Autumn, a pre-courser to Winter and the world whispers change.
If my soul was 100% when I was born, it must be running at 50%. I used to be so free and easy, leaving bits of myself around carelessly. My hopes, my dreams, my thoughts were taken and warped by those I confided in and adapted for other things. Parts of me were stolen when I laid in a drunken haze, someone else's bed, someone else's energies, their space and here was the mess that was Erin Veness filling it up with all her negative aurora.
How many times did I leave parts of me behind? Like mould growing in those who had a tendency to melancholy, I exhausted them, desperately stealing their mind space, that look that became second nature to those who cared, who maybe didn't understand but could see with their x-ray-spex.
Erin, you're not going to find absolution there.
Disease of the mind spreading and engulfing myself and those in between, there was me and there was me and neither were truly 100% there.
Just keep kicking until your legs give way.
My life seems to become this quest for all the philosophical questions that no-one can give me a concrete answer to. Reading Camus, Russell et al doesn't help either. My thoughts struggle to form coherently and I feel like I'm throwing words out there and hoping they come back in a succinct sentence.
No such luck.