Kapprcorn420's blog: "Just some thoughts"

Apathetic attitudes adjust accordingly at almost anatomically accurate angles. Depressions stir like the substance flows through veins. Unaccomplished tasks and desires Dance around me as if tribesmen in a ritualistic chant around the fire. The fire. The fire steadily burns within me, the craving. My link to darkness. My lust for love. A myth. Unproven legends. Hatred for failure. Destined for pain. I fear that I'll never find true love again. Feather. Beautiful Feather. I long to feel your gentle touch once more for eternity. Feather.

Life is a murder Current mood: depressed What good is the soul which dwells within my shell, what use has it served? I feel not the love one should covet for thy own flesh and blood. Returned unto me is nothing in comparison to the passion and effort I put forth unto my hearts desire. The light of my heart grows dim, an empty cavern of decay remains where once was a home to many romantic hopes and dreams. Their corpses picked clean by the vultures spawned by the death of my marriage.

Endless memories flood through my mind like water over stones upon a mighty river. Lacking the capability of building a dam strong enough to hold them back, I dive head first into the river, surrounding myself with the torturous beauty of good times remembered. Sometimes they seem so far away, so distant, I wonder if they ever happened. The sky opens up with firey rain, each drop sizzling on my skin like bacon. My skin smells like bacon......can this be true? My body feels a new coat, one of wirey hairs, course and dense. Could it be? Am I the swine? Raised to butcher, to fill the bellys of others? Perhaps I shouldn't swim in the river that flows through my mind on a Tuesday again. My bad.

Insanity lies deep within us all, maturing and designing itself to its own fate. When it's moment comes it knows how to take over, decietful little bastard, moving in and becoming. Thoughts on paper run together to form words unspoken, with more meaning hidden behind the illusion of it's portrayed purpose. Breaking into the tomb of meaning is to become. Become the father or the mother or the god of those words and create with them, a new life. Birth of the unspoken brings new meaning, a new light.

As silent as snow fills the air As permanent as existence As gentle as down dancing in the breeze As magical as a kiss My heart is now bleeding, covering the white blanket of snow in a beautiful array of reds. It almost looks like an Angel, I think to myself, as the feather kisses my forhead before finding it's bed in the cold, bloody snow. I live, but I cease to exist. I have plenty of ammo But somebody has moved my target

Compassion? Elusive compassion is only truly born of understanding. The understanding comes from connection, in some form or many. Connection to pain, to loss, to joy, to remorse, to emotion. Emotional Ocean Swallowing us whole in its vastness Drowning in my pain, as I sink to the depths... What is that I see? A reflection of myself? But no! It is another. Could it be? Another poor soul has found it's way to the same point as me. Therein lies the compassion, a child from the womb of my understanding. A companion in pain. A new friend in my suffering. A glimmer in my darkness. Sink or swim sink or swim The struggle within which we share.

It's unfortunate the history of pain and suffering that is carved into the sepulchre of Love. There seems to be more tales of heartache and sadness and suicide attached to the thought of Love then there is happiness and success. Perhaps we overlook the obvious, any tale we know of with a happy ending is usually straight from a childrens book, very few reports from life. So why do we keep on trying? Love seems to be like the lottery, we're prolly not gonna win, yet we play anyway, throwing away our money on hopes and dreams. I guess you can't win if you don't play, but the cost of playing Love's Lotto is more than a dollar. It costs more than anyone should have to pay. I know within myself I have paid more than my fair share of pain and failure and I'd like to say I'm done playing, but I guess I'm just a hopeless romantic of sorts. Maybe someday I'll win. It may just kill me, but maybe I'll win. Either way I'll be free of pain.