I am surrounded

Surrounded by beauty even if I don't see it all the time

Surrounded by love even when I don't feel it.

And I am not alone, even when I feel lonely.

It is amazing because I thouhgt it would take alot of work to affirm this within myself.

Life is too easy.

Difficulties and oppression will always surface, but its too easy, and you overlook that in time.

It is amazing how...the universe answers the call of open hearts.

Even when I am failing before myself, I am surrounded by the flow. The flow of life itself. The living water that pour torrential rains upon my parched soul.

Dancing in the sea of nebulaic fantasy. Even though originality feels far from me.

So the cute girl from down the hall showed me a piece of her heart in the form of her blog. Its interesting to see...her. She's like a reflective mirror to my life. I see alot of my own thoughts and experiences in her words. I guess I just wish I knew what works for me like what works for her.

I'm an old soul, but still a young child. What a conflicting fucking way to live.

Wish I had the same passion as those around me, but too often did I see through the mock-up.
Wish I could perform the same way, but for too long did I find no worth any thing tangible.
Wish I could give to those who have none, but what all I have to offer seems but worthless.

I ain't much, and I never cared for much, or at least I tell myself I don't.
Ain't shit out there that I really want to attest myself to.
What do I live for? Nothing really. Only reason I haven't left was because of the people around me.
I don't wanna cause pain when I die, but I seem to cause too much trouble when I'm alive.
Or at least...I think I'm alive. Maybe this soulessness thats been attacking me has finally reached its goal.


In terms of the brain department, all I have is but the rehashing of old elements from re-occuring dreams of yesteryear. I'm but a blank emptied slate to the infinite white of tomorrow, and evenso, all I see is black.

Just a bit damned tired of not being able to express myself in the magnitude that I strive for. I might have to just lock myself in silence forever until I actually master the manipulation of the base energies of life where lightning bolts literally shoot out my eyesockets and shit.

A heavy sigh as I return back to the drawing board, watching the old etchings and markings dance around before my very eyes. Any attempt to perform something new is but a derivative of what was once a streaming of that chalk powder. After all is said and done, I'm but left with the sweet whispers that echo from her heart.

I am but saddened because I know I speak so much more in my stilled silence than the seemingly fantastic speech that is shown forth into this world. It amounts to nothing truly, as the living art that dwells within me is sooo much more. I only ask daily that God give me some form or some way to transcribe the pure essence of not just the greatest days of my life that he continues to bring me towards, but the menagerie of experiences and occurrences that came to fruition. Even though we were alone, I felt so sheltered from what she truly wished to say in those moonlit nights. All I see is this fear that streams from her, second guessing tomorrow.

It takes so much to even attempt to get people to understand that I am not here. And what I see, what I feel, does not take place here. What I search for daily, is not found here. Even as I simply stared at the emptied bed, her smile was so ever present. Even as I laid alone in those nights, I knew I stared up at the night sky alongside her. The heavy rains only came because tears were running down her tulip cheeks that reminds me of the endless fields of Italy in another time. That spring wonderland where my heart once resided many a lifetime ago.

I have no reason to live for myself. Nothing fills me in this void world. The only thing that brings me satisfaction is giving all that I am to one that I may call my lover. And I feel as if the one thing that keeps me from doing so is the belief that I am but the most tainted and distorted figure.

And after all of these wasteful thoughts, I only wonder if she knows, that I know, that I am not without her. That I feel her gentle caress against my skin. Her hands may be cold, but her heart is set ablaze akin to the old souls that dance before me.