Submission
August 29, 2009 by lastgunslinger
This slumber was too appealing. I felt suspended by my own fears, wishful thoughts and contradicting principles. I would never get out of this. I would never want to.
These vices never were this inviting.
The number of strangers I had conversed with in the past months was convulsive. The number of strangers I had tasted even more so. I had no need for acquaintances.
Yet, they came.
I was in an eternal struggle to discriminate emotions and disentangle them from residues of events past and current delusions. At the center of this complicated web was my obsession to manually put a rein on this thing we called time and forcefully drag it backwards.
I loved the fact that lines were being blurred and walls were being demolished. I was just looking for the chance to instill some more clarity and build things back up.
But so many words written when all I really wanted to say was,
I was wrong.
