Saturday, February 14, 2009

Holding Patterns...

She walks into a room with a cup of steaming hot coffee and a chip on her shoulder.
The nights progress should have made her smile
They did make her smile
but then they ended and all that was left was wet hair, blood red letters that screamed "you're the best" and the coffee that was contained by the cup...

It's cryptic
but what in life isn't?

The computer screen, the only light in the room making her face look even more drawn than it really is.  The scratches on her decade old glasses that give off an eerie glow as she stares at the computer screen.

Always angry...
At least you can feel anger.
its something
even if it's ill gotten

How did it come to this
How did she become an embodiment of anger?  She should smile, be happy.  Sing.

But no

She comes into a room with a chip on her shoulder
A cup of steaming hot coffee in her hand
blood red letters telling her she's something she clearly know she's not
"The best"

Like Toad in Mario Cart...

The best at what
of what?

She is a combination of one thousand emotions that mean nothing
That will never be recognized

Years in the making to be a cliche that is just that

No one wants to be common

Yet still
I sit in the dark
This computer causing my face to glow in a pale eerie light
Waiting for nothing 
and knowing that nothing will come

The landing hold is on
it's been on for too long

Maybe if I'm lucky I'll crash

Just like all those planes killing my dream

This is just another over dramatic rendition of my life
That should have been left unsaid.

And there you go Crazy.  
There is your blog for tonight
Don't miss read
I had a blast
As I always do
But... even though I post it out there for all to see
I'll explain later
where no one else can... 
So don't hold my anger against you
It is not you
I have nothing to explain it
so I'm not going to try

for once, I really am lost for words... 

~the end

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