Words, words, words. What are they...? I have spilled one too many words writing empty stories, essays after essays, answers to questions that don't actually matter. I have wasted them with meaningless repetition. But I am not one to stop it. The bleeding pen still makes its mark and draws life from the pages - just endless piles of pages - perfect slates of emptiness that invited imagination in its purest. How can stand to deface the beauty of paper? It asks not for rhetoric, nor logic, nor truth. It exists as perfect, neutral space.
But that! even that has been befouled. Oh, my great mistakes. I have thrown away, nay, mutilated opportunity and words. I have exhausted them in vain, and now, I cannot face it without pain. I dare not even place an idea, or just a thought in words; I fear I bring both injustice. If only my power was as expandable as the limits to reverie. Then I could tell you so much more.
Wednesday, July 2
i have written it in my head for now
5 comments:
Why so unsatisfied with yourself all of a sudden?
Just finished GP issit? lol
Anonynous: I'm disappointed with myself in a way because there are just so many things I want to write about, but am not. It just feels like a huge waste to have so many ideas left neither here nor there.
Axnxg: No, GP was a while ago. I'm referring to my exams as a whole, which just ended. Exams are always emotionally exhausting because you have to suspend your emotions to think clearly and stuff.
Jonjonnnn, I hope you did okay for your exams. Kthxbye.
Ah, I do know who! *sniggers*
I hope I did okay too. Thanks.
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