Feb 97~ Desolate

Desolate thoughts take over my mind. Dreams of a bleaker future widdle their way into my soul. Bored of my life, wanting something more. Empty places in my soul aching for fulfillment. A deeper kind of peace, something to excite me, to make me happy to be alive. Instead of trying to find that peace, I sit and wait for it to find me, knowing it probably never will, but not daring to seek my own happiness. Perhaps fear of failure holds me back, perhaps lack of anticipation of a brighter dream is the culprit. Who knows? Not I. So I sit here and wait. Bored, confused, scared, alone. Reliving past memories in the back of my mind, sad that they are gone now. Trying to fiqure people out, with little luck, wondering if I am the only person to think the way that I do. If I am the only person who hides behind the mask, only letting the real me free when I have a pen in hand. My thoughts on paper seem to be worth less than when they are just scattered ideas floating freely in my mind. I feel lower than other people, as if because of trivial thoughts and harbored negative feelinds I'm not worth as much as others. I know I am a loving person who doesn't like to do others wrong, but yet I can't shake the feeling that I'm just a hardcore bitch that just doesn't give a damn. Perhaps on paper I am, but in reality, I could never hurt anyone the way I seem to do in my mind. I never seem to think things through before doing them, consequences don't enter my mind until after I fuck everything up. And then who do I have to blame? Omly myself, and I punish myself profusely for it. Yet I think it's almost unfair for others to hold blame above my head when they know I never meant to hurt anyone. Yet am I as forgiving as that with others? In ways yes, but also in way I can hold grudges for eternity, but I never let on that I do. I hide them deep in secret places where my bitterness and anger go. Places never to be revealed to anyone....ever. I may show a selected sould or two the rantings ad ravings of my tortured mind someday, but never will they see the things I talk about. They may know I hide my bitterness, but they will never know what lies behind the anger, or the cause of my unhappiness.