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RenaissanceRomanceRunsRed
Senior Member

since 2007-06-11

Posts 1062
In Love <3

0 posted 2007-11-24 01:31 PM

Naught

I spend so many days
That are neither light nor dark
And sometimes I don't feel anything
But the vibrations of my breathing
Or the cold that always seems to find me
That always stiffens my fingers

This lack of thought or desire
Sometimes it frightens me
It’s a pain from which I seek relief
But seldom do I get that which I seek
For it always strays far
Sitting off in the corner, until I am weakened

And the mush which becomes my arms
The weight they feel run through them
So like a physical tiredness-
But nevertheless it is not
I weary from life sometimes
It seems so much to bear

Though in my mind I suppose
That is the purpose of writing
To let the words bear what I can not
Or at least I pretend I can not
But- who is to know the difference?
Surely not I, nor you for that matter

But yet- it exists
And it decays the part of me
That detests the cold
But for all the decay- I hate it all the more
Sometimes it is like an icicle
Running down my spine

If only I knew relief
Then perhaps I would have something to look to
Something to pretend to have
But, alas, even relief
That most precious of feelings
Escapes my mind, body, and soul

But oh the life that is me
For in a way I am life
Cold and bitter, yet gentle and surprising
I am the good- and yet the horrible
I am the strong and the weary weak
It is funny for all that I am

I have no name
But nevertheless you give me names
I’ve been called life
Or perhaps the shadow of a soul
Intelligence or humanity
But the truth is, I am naught

"I have no other but a woman's reason:
I think him so, because I think him so."