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Post by The Silence on Apr 9, 2003 22:04:54 GMT -5
The girl sits at her crowded desk and looks at all the artificial things That used to give her pleasure
She has unknowingly but surely ruined the rest of her life And has just come to realize it
She curses her nature
Perhaps she should just stay in this darkened room and do nothing but write
Until her very body is turned to dust
Unwilling to face what she did to herself
Oblivious to anything but the scratching of her pencil
In the silence slowly sinking into the depths of forgotten stories
and off-key tunes
She writes
After one page she looks back crumples the sheet
Nothing more than dull words fading into the yellow shadows dusk lies across the paper
Then slowly meticulously she smoothes it out
Each crease is a mountain range between the paper peaks of the worls she imagines rivers flow
For a moment the infinite creation is the most real thing on this plane of thought
Her fingers grow numb where she clenches the pencil
There is no point in trying if she is already doomed to fail
but
if she has the possibility to succeed and brushes the chance aside again and again mindlessly It is most pathetic
For the thousandth time she swears to improve
to change to grow to be
but
In the back of her mind she knows she will be returning to that dark room
eventually
time and time again Caught up in a nightmarish cycle that seems as unreal
As you or I
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Post by Archagon on Apr 9, 2003 22:52:10 GMT -5
That's pretty interesting...
Who wrote it?
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