wild_zero

the gentle magma runs over the soul once, then twice over. the gentle illusion makes itself move faster, and then, i find myself distraught. part of me wants to, yes. the other half, not so sure. but i keep thinking - the noise gets louder. the situation becomes manifest. and i picture it wandering, wavering back and forth. and the mind keeps thinking. and everything gets out of focus. a story was written in that idle moment, thinking about you. was it the choices i made or the world itself that turned my into a foul and cynical beast? what grave wrong was done unto others that i cannot expect compassion, or even simple courtesy anymore? i'm grateful i have very forgiving and understanding people around me. otherwise, there wouldn't be much of a point to desire to rise out of bed each and every day. it's a struggle enough as it is, when i awaken to the same story every day, and i spend the next hour half-asleep and snoozing the alarm clock every nine minutes. then at 9:03 am something happens - i think about survival, and the next day. the dream finally dissolves away, in spite of my best efforts, and the only thing i can think about is the hope this day is different and the next morning has a different story to tell. it's been this way for a good six years now. can all this platonic nonesense ever replace those ephemeral moments of love? or am i to atone in this life sentence - its memory my only link to the free world? last night i dreamt i was both terrified and fascinated by two moths the size of my fists chasing each other in blind movements. there was a girl there, and she insisted i follow the moths and capture them with a plastic bag. the moths rested gently on some kind of stoop, and i watched them. the female was larger than the male, fuzzier and more pronounced. the male was smaller and more non-descript. the female would move her attenae all around and the little whiskers would wave in unision. it put the plastic bag against the stoop and they hesitated for a moment, then the male dropped in and the female followed him. i drew the bag away slowly but they became energized and started buzzing about. i tried to quickly tie a knot on top of the bag, but the female's attenae became stuck outside the bag and rubbed against my fingers, sending goosebumps down my arms. but at last they were caught, but the girl was gone and i felt shame and misery at having trapped these moths in a plastic bag. there was no approval, no smile, no win. nothing was left but the cruel act of capturing creatures weaker than me, and i held their jail in my hand. would i have freed them? tried to find the girl and show her the moths? killed myself in agony? i don't know - it was suddenly 9:03 am when i realized a shower was in order and i had to get to work.