Nedelja, 22:29
It's too late to leave it
I crave the touch of them on my skin
My hands tense and shake when I am denied my daily dosage
At faculty my mind is constantly distracted by the thoughts of what awaits me when I clock out
While listening to music I visualize the colors dancing
I dig through drawers and look under my bed for any forgotten bits
My heart strains when my bottles are empty and the dealer is sold out
I cry out in frustration when my mind is blocked with no way of being able to think without my fixation
I dig through my pockets for loose change and pawn my belongings for the money I need
I see letters different sizes in front of my eyes...
Without it I feel lost and alone, dull and pointless.
My insanities and frustrations appear as well as other emotions when I'm high...
The tapping of keys on the typewriter could drive a woman insane.
But not a woman such as this. A poet, A journalist, A writer.
To her, the tapping of keys is music to her ears
A Narcotic, a drug, addicting and soothing
She comes back day after day for more, as her tolerance builds
Soon she shall spend hours, days, at a time at that desk, at her chair
Obsessing over the perfection over a simple story.
Searching for a level of perfection so high that she could never achieve it
But day by day, moment by moment She continues on in this manner
Giving herself unto the paper, the ink, the mechanics of the machine
As her writing consumes her entirely, and the outside world disappears
Replaced with a darkened room, Filled only with necessities.
&Hi
All we children are insane, waitnig for the summer rain.&About
Blogger:Tanja Žarkovič&Read
Unsuitable life
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