Spooky (angryspooky) wrote, @ 2004-09-26 14:52:00

Eee.
My mind is a train wreck
and it's crashed in the heart of my hometown.
The image comes in clear
but not the "why," just the "How."
Everything is running like paint in the rain,
and it's not the night that scares me;
as much as the coming day.

My body was a tiger whose died
from the jab of starvation
I hoped so long for a hero
to rescue us (or me) in some way amazing
Instead, we are blurred like a winter landscape
white and new and a picture of no fate.

Normally, I don't like to share anything I write, poems especially. Alot of what I write gets anked shortly after it's creation. Silus is backburner-ed, which is a shame, but not the point.

Recently, I've come to wonder how I became the person I am today. Am I a product of my upbringing? Am I who I am because I was meant to be this way? Or am I something else, the product of response to others? Am nothing but the shadow of my parents mistakes, or am I a reflection of the fears and needs of others?

Either way, I don't blame them, whoever "They" are. It's not worth being angry for no reason.

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