Like a runaway train rushing through flushing petals and olive meadows, and loving every single minute of being totally uninhabited, I want to do something wrong. Go rogue. Give this position up, refuse to be responsible for my actions or the implications that come thereafter. What would people think? How exciting the dangers of being bad.
Because the truth is I wish I didn't have this responsibility on my shoulders. Going back early, putting up a front. This whole farty farce of caring, being good, and proper and appropriate. Whilst the grumps of a pops grumbles in the background, being an ass to my mother in the foreground, (which kinda makes it difficult for me to respect him as) a coach on the side. Like pickled cucumbers - on the side, and goes with bland, sweet rice.
Truly, I hate this. And it is physically-trying trying to articulate this because this choice was made by me. So, who can I blame, and to whom can I complain. It was my choice, and it was a stupid one, but it was mine nonetheless. Nothing to do but carry on.
Faith and hope. Powerful things. In the mourning, I'll rise.
Good night, world. I'll see you when it's time, when it's all the same.
No comments:
Post a Comment