2005-04-26 - 9:53 p.m.

Words splatter at the walls like paint on a canvas.
Holding nothing dear but your own heart.
It tears at me, uncontrollably
you all know what it is,
but I dont.
I cannot define, I cannot even come close
But there is something within myself I cannot let out.
There is something that is beyond all that is me, something that has gone undefined and rightfully so.
This "picture perfect" you see in front of you is any but.
It is EVERYTHING but.
Words are not emotions and emotions are not actions. And if we cant act on our word, then we remain running in circles.
Is that what Im destined for? Running in continious circles?
Running rampid in the midst of these blurred faces with their views and opinions and their "oh your so pretty"'s.
If so, Im many of the millions not acting on my word, whatever that is, and whatever it is not.
I cannot obide by my own mind, nor heart, nor any other emotional navigational tool.
Im lost in my own perfection. But, Im not sure if its reality or a dream. Understand?

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