A new lease on life cannot dissuade the rusted blade of melancholia. I observe people growing tired of their conventional extravagances. Bored with their own banality. Yet there is no evolution beyond this exhaustion. Invariably, they all find the oxidized edges of disappointment within themselves. Tiny hooks and edges to better catch themselves upon. Covered up over the years with desperate deposits of denial. Until they've boxed themselves into their own concertina-wire containers. Like a scene from a Saw film. And most would rather die than struggle, hurt and fail to escape.
8:24 p.m. - 2015-02-09
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
As-I-know-it
Nicim
Breathe-Salt
Swordfern
Star-Brite
Swallowthkey
ATwoWayDream
HumHum
Secret-motel
AndWeBreathe
MovingSands
WeAteTheSea