Sunday, August 10, 2014

8/10

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

What am I counting?  My failures?  My regrets?

I don't even know anymore.

How do I stop counting?

Am I fighting with the world?  Or am I fighting with myself?  Why do I need to fight at all?

Time and again, I try to find my way.  One step forward.  Three steps back.  I'm not getting anywhere.  Am I chasing a moving target?  Or the target does not even exist?

I can destroy the world.  I can destroy myself.  But I can't get any of this right.

The weight kills me.  But the silence is worse.  It's one thing to condemn me.  It's quite another to not.

I run on hope, or what little amount of it that remains.  (Or is this called naive?)

I run on faith, believing things I cannot see.  (Or is this called blind?)

9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

Turn back the clock.

Can I start over?

IMUL

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