T
literature

Trapped

tirsden's avatar
By tirsden   |   Watch
2 0 147 (1 Today)
Published: August 23, 2006
One thing I have learned
  That all my trust is earned
And once it is destroyed
  Null and void

     Such a black hole
       Way out there
     Flying in space
       Can't erase

And so I am here
  Sitting calmly in spite
Of the things I might
  Say to you

     Such a black hole
       Way out here
     Flying in space
       Can't erase

Don't like who I am
  I don't care what I do
As long as I always
  Hide from you

     Such a black hole
       Way out where
     Flying in space
       Can't erase
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but this isn't just distance as in space, not just distance as in whispers of, "i can't believe how far you are from me, i miss you" - this isn't just distance in the way that roads seem to spill over hilltops for years, stretching like skin across knuckles but never ending,   no. this is the kind of distance that isn't seen but instead felt, that isn't marked by miles or gas money and can't be pinned in two spots on a map with red thumbtacks: this is not hearing from you for days and knowing you haven't noticed. this is wanting to have you beside me and knowing you're just fine   alone. this is the kind of dist
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A dream can be a passing thought; a passionate ambition. A dream can be a battle fought; a superficial mission. A dream can be a driving force; a forgiving comfort. A dream can be a thriving source; a deceitful consort. A dream can thrill you; drive you or kill you. Beware of this, dreamers— and Dream On.
© 2006 - 2019 tirsden
Another older piece, maybe from two years ago or more. Yay for angst. Sadly this poem is still much too close to my current feelings now that I read it over again. Must find better living environment... :shakefist:
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c
compulsive liar.
once i asked you your favourite colour, and you said, "the brown of your eyes," so i put in one green contact and told everyone that i came out of the womb as a factory defect, half-priced, damaged goods. - sometimes i am from canada and sometimes i am from england and sometimes i am from spain. i've carefully tempered my accents and plotted out my stories with yellow and purple coloured pencils on index cards. my origin changes like the seasons. "why do you lie to everyone?" you ask. "why not?" i reply. - i wear nametags that read "alicia" and "liana" and "samantha," because i want to know how it feels to be someon
a
absences
but this isn't just distance as in space, not just distance as in whispers of, "i can't believe how far you are from me, i miss you" - this isn't just distance in the way that roads seem to spill over hilltops for years, stretching like skin across knuckles but never ending,   no. this is the kind of distance that isn't seen but instead felt, that isn't marked by miles or gas money and can't be pinned in two spots on a map with red thumbtacks: this is not hearing from you for days and knowing you haven't noticed. this is wanting to have you beside me and knowing you're just fine   alone. this is the kind of dist
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Dream On
A dream can be a passing thought; a passionate ambition. A dream can be a battle fought; a superficial mission. A dream can be a driving force; a forgiving comfort. A dream can be a thriving source; a deceitful consort. A dream can thrill you; drive you or kill you. Beware of this, dreamers— and Dream On.
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