Inspiration is as simple as anger, envy and ignorance. Softly spoken sometimes or screaming listen to me. Please listen to me. Usually, envy is a quiet thing too. So simply inspiration leaks through envious words. That is what I hear when I hear my death approach. A simple envy saying listen to me. Please listen to me. Anger seen through sad eyes. Anger, not for him or me or her, but anger for yourself, anger for your failures. That is what I see when I see you death.
The answer, my friends, isn’t blowing in the wind. Having no answers is where you begin. Sometimes I feel like I am about to loose my mind. But, before I can I find myself here pen in hand. I have been deeply profoundly sad, worrisome, bothered, found smiling, found anxious. But, mostly I have been found lost. Trying to define reality, trying to give my life some kind of surreal quality. And yet, I am not lost. I have been found lost in wander, not wonder. Wandering deep in this realm of I, me, myself and my. I have found my way feeling lost. I have lost my way feeling found. So I wander aimlessly without a sense of direction, without a sense of purpose, with not much really. Just my own words bouncing around, loosing their way inside my head. Finding themselves here on this piece of paper wandering through my pen. Found wanting, found waiting, found wandering, but mostly found lost. Lost in anger, lost in anxiety, lost in life. Lost, waiting to live. Found wanting to die. Picturesque images appear in my mind slaughtered by my sadness, pieced back together by hope, drowned by failure, masked by indifference, diminished by my inability to find or to finish. So I wait for death. As if he will come to knock on my door to make sure I catch the bus to hell. Will I be found then? Cold and stiff, all life suffocated from my eyes? Will I be found wanting, found in waiting or simply lost forever? Sometimes I do find her. In sheets, in dreams, in all my in-betweens I see her. The recollection of soft things. The shimmer of sweat on my skin, a glaze over my eyes, a small exhaled moan, a single tear running from these sad empty eyes. Simple glimpses of pain and bliss. Simple hope in being unlikely to forget. My indifference to do bad or good in life has led me here. I figured effort was effort and I was wrong.
Wandering in a realm of ignorance will lead you to such conclusions. In these words what am I looking for now? Salvation? Forgiveness? A path, lost amongst a deepening darkness? A hope? A glimpse of some foraging light? I cannot honestly say I know. I have found myself here pondering my improbable life, the injustice I see in allowing my survival. Anger succumbs me, inhaling its own frustration, stealing each breath I take. This world has lost touch with the divine, the almighty wrath has ceased to reign. It is only you and me now, you and your conscience. We could go back. Back to what is lost, back to familiar hopes, familiar faces. Back to lost dreams and bad places. I want to go back. I want to forget, to feel bliss. I want what I had. Back to impulse, to obsession, just back to some kind of familiar regression. No more family, no more thoughts. I want to go back, back to climbing mountains, back to God. I have wandered, I have prayed and now may I wait for only time may tell of the marrow’s of rain.