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SubscriptionsSites I Read
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| i'm in a place where emptiness must be embraced. i've been thinking of numbers between 0 and 2 for so long ... and i'm sick of the whiplash from the back-and-forth. i need to get to a new plateau ... one infinitely greater. if i could only ease the violent dreams out of my mind. unresolved relationships and examples of misunderstanding keep me close to the impatient edge. the border of unmet desire and desperation, the chasm of depression, and the slow trickle of tears in the shrouded depths. 
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| my life sounds like noisy rain ... irregular and inconsistent drops of grief. the cadence seems to be coming from above ... i suspect the clouds. my head is getting harder to lift ... drenched with life grown heavy. God, does grace reach to this side of madness?
'Cause I know this can't be the great peace we all seek.
Come down, heaven.
Won't you come down?
Won't you cut through the clouds? 
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| i've been wondering how my speaking with a monotone voice might affect my interactions. maybe i'd become bored with my self ... or just fail to appreciate the inflections of others. maybe it would be like seeing life in grayscale. music would lack its lustre and i'd crop my emotional spectrum. it reminds me of grief ... where the gray clouds of loss limit my desire to keep my head up. the suffocating fogs of memory lead me to familiar yet overgrown obstacles.
i believe i am prejudiced against the tone-less voice. if someone speaks monotonously, i assume that their ability to empathize is severely limited ... as if they can only recognize the force and rhythm of drums rather than delight in the tones and timbre of a symphonic band. perhaps monotonous folk provide the foundation for freedom ... the discipline necessary for dreams. maybe their voices are a constant reminder of the grieving process and the need to keep plodding along.
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| i feel it's time to continue life in a more public way. i've been privately writing for what seems like years. i have a desperate need to come up for air ... my life depends on it. hopefully i will regain consciousness in a timely fashion, but i know the devil wears prada.
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| i don't know if the stars speak anymore. years of light and all i've got is a twinkle, a flicker of distant hope. i'm not an astronaut, but i've been known to bend the space-time continuum. is it enough to see the light without experiencing the flame? to be blinded by dim candles and shudder without warmth?
words seem like enemies and the longer the sentence, the more frustration i feel. i'm h(a)unted by memory. my ghosts are alive and coming from pandora's box.
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