old boy

good morning? goodnight? since i was young enough to remember i have never felt complete- perhaps a bit condescending but the truth lies here like a rug. I, even as a young boy have lived with a certain level of guilt-for what i know not but again, the rug fills the room. i have always thought of myself as a bit of a sociable introvert, if such a thing is, i am.  “worry wort” as my beautiful grandmother used to say and a solidified prick under the right lights.  i revel in the thought of my friends laughing about things said and the fury of half witted whole hearted stupidity that i may bring. the plight of mans current interests never really brought any of my blood to the surface, as i type on a laptop computer and check the time on my blackberry… i waver in my thoughts and i digress, my worrying has at one time or another had a stranglehold on my thoughts. i have always felt tied down to something and i drag, whether it be my heart, brain or my feet. my idealistic life would be…unknown. A thought that brings a real fear to my chest and a rush of time’s realness to head. Perhaps some lives weren’t destined to be decided in a class room or upon the puppy love of another. regardless the thought that the story of my life in words is being written nanoseconds before i make my next fumbling judgment is frightening yet endearing. I have acquaintances that were wed moments after their eligibility to legally purchase nicotine came and some who i think the nicotine may take into the ground before they truly hold the hand of another. lives lived, who am i to judge. the young boy so full of plans for life that were smashed against the dashboard courtesy of a inebriated driver heading the opposite way to the near ancient man employing his standing death bed full time after a life of broken promises and bottles. a young girl looking for acceptance giving in and mothering multiple children out of bodily pleasures to the only sister of eleven to never find love. so many people, so many different people.  there in lies the cruel beauty of life, being in the fact that nothing is promised, little given, so much taken.  I don’t request answers for what i will do in a decade, only the hope that i will be…full. full of life, full of love,  full of..fucking dinner. To pry is to push while not pushing is remaining stagnant. fill your glass and open your eyes, no reason to worry. we balance on the hands of a clock that runs on borrowed time. hope like hell while wishing for heaven.

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One Response to “old boy”

  1. dark wader Says:

    why you know write so long?
    Save it up for the show
    Cinco de Mayo
    Dante’s
    Fists in air
    fuck

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