Monday, December 28, 2009

Washed Up on the Shore

Standing at the edge of this desolate beach I throw messages in bottles out into the reaching waters.  There’s little to no chance they’ll be found.  There’s even a high probability that they’ll be outright ignored.  And still I continue with this futile act because I have nothing but my words.

As always.

For a brief moment I believed.  It was a shining moment when I looked up and thought I saw a beacon light in the distance, a ray of hope - salvation.  Instead, it was merely the smear of tears in my eyes turning the lonely moonlight into something more, or perhaps something less. 

So I sit on my lonely beach and hate myself for hoping and for believing.  I hate myself for wishing and wanting.  I hate myself for thinking there was ever a chance - even a slim one - of finding the peace and comfort of the quiet between heartbeats.  No, it was better before I saw the mirage and had reason to hope.  Now I have the dark reality to face and the truth that everything beautiful was only an illusion and never existed.  I have the truth that I was always alone and always will be, per my own thorny being.  So I hate myself for that, too.  How can a thistle be any more than a thistle?  No matter how she dreams of being a rose, she is what she is.

I never want to dream again.

And still I write messages and send them into the sea.

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In Previous Years:

2004

Pimping

If you have an account with “Neopets”:http://neopets.com please go and do my friend a favor and “vote”:http://www.neopets.com/beauty/details.phtml?pet=Avallocian for his pet in the beauty contest!!  THANKS!… [Read More]

2003

Blame It On The Brain

Have you ever had one of those moments where you were afraid to admit to something, but just couldn’t help yourself?

Today while strolling around… [Read More]