Written 2002 (?)
What Happened?
What has happened to my desire, the urge to etch lost emotions onto a page?
The passion driven flow of feeling once expressed.
The pound of my own heart beat in my chest, my ears as I scribble methodical sequences of letters derived from fears.
What has happened to my heart, that I can no longer feel as deeply?
That leaves me colder, I feel as though I've digressed intellectually. Once artistic, warm, articulate.
My body only functions according to how my mind allows it. Why can I not portray the lessons I've learned in my actions, my play of life, my tale to write?
The echo of self-deception is devouring me. Do I know the truth buried somewhere in all of this duplicity? Or is it permanently denied by what I allow myself to perceive? Is it just an innate duality; this paradox I cannot conceive? Can I endure the terrors created by self-loathing? Do I even believe them? Or have they captured me unruly? How can I once more obtain my desire, passion, intellect, warmth, if at the same time I never truly, possessed these divine qualities in a collective reality?
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