Infection

Into a sea of endless conversation
Falling deeper and deeper; becoming one
Together they ache in anticipation


Though a calloused heart he caries
She's let into his hidden world
"This is it", she says, but oh! quite the contrary


Suffocation fuels the raging fire
Denied any chance; any future
Poise and dignity is the attire


A distant dream it has become
But to destiny, they shall succumb.





People.  They're not nice.  (Well, except the WalMart worker who offered to let me skip in front of someone who had a gazzillion items while I only had three-- HE was nice).  But in general, they're just not.  It doesn't pay to be genuine anymore.  You won't be successful if you allow all of your walls to be broken down in a matter of weeks because you're vulnerable.  Actually, vulnerability gets you into a land of nothing.  Nowhere.  A dead end.  It gets you on a drunken drive home at 3am trying to remember what it was that you said because, really, you don't remember, yet somehow wishing you could take it all back because if you never said it, whatever it is that's happening wouldn't be happening.  Then, it gets you to the morning after when you -really- don't remember what happened, though somehow you keep replaying it in your mind.  But, remember-- you -don't- remember.

But the truth is, I miss being vulnerable.  I miss pouring my heart out.  I miss the challenge I used to have that wasn't really a challenge because I was damn good at tearing it down.  But, things happen.  I get it.  I just wish they didn't.  Not yet.  Not over something so stupid that could have been prevented anyway.  -That's- stupid.  You don't often find things to be genuine.  But when they are, it's like everyone just wants to throw them away.  It's because they're scared, I guess.  I know I am.  But I'm more scared of not finding it again.  It's kind of like a three-day weekend for me:  I want it, I want it, I want it.  Then when it's here, I don't want it because I miss working because I can't sit around and do nothing.  But then when it's gone, I want it back. (That's a bad analogy, but it works).

My thoughts are infected.  I want new ones.  I wonder how long it will be until I'm finally rid of the infection which consumes me.  I'm willing to bet it'll be a while.