Sitting and Thinking

Sitting in the hotel my mind is in a million places, all the colours gone. Worrying, thinking, all the things I did and did not do, everyday again.

 

It all means something, has god lost faith, have I lost faith, is Karma a bitch, Am I really that bad, One does not know, and makes no sense. I see no point, no path out, though at the other side there is, there always is. And I will find it.

I realize now, I have to reach rock bottom to build everything up again from there, but first I need to go down all the way, in every way.

 

A table

A chair

A computer

People passing

No expressions

I went blind

Gone deaf

No touch,

No sound,

No smell

Is left.

That is how I see these letters

Today

Yesterday

I get what I disserve

 

Have I ever been more conscious of the moment then now? I don’t think so, as I’m hurt, especially my ego, so that is hard to build up again. I have murphy as a friend, around every corner, and I let him, as I help him to do what he does. Is it easier to fail, to keep doing what you are doing?

Do I make a big change, do I push the limits to far, do I push it even further, have I lost respect for others, did I ever have it for me, do I fuck all up, or is it a streak of bad luck?

 

Writing that you are a failure is easy, as you don’t know me, heck, I don’t even know me. I just live and push, push for what I want, be it orange, be it black, be it forgotten I keep going, every day again, hiding, after a front that does not matter, not today, and not tomorrow. Not to you anyhow.

 

Should I part should I go? Should I stay? Should I fight? Should I surrender? Should I do anything?

Questions, over and over again. Even doubting what I do, am I really good? Am I really made for this, do I fuck up? Do I Succeed? Do I fail? I need answers, and nobody can give them.

 

Writing, is the only thing that gives me some peace, no reason to be afraid, as I do it for no one or do I? Do I hope for attention? A lifeline? Or am I still just me.

 

Life goes on, like it does for the men, hidden behind his laptop, talking to the hotel people, talking to everyone, and all he needs is a key, a key to open his locker. His world fading, crumbling…

We all have our towers of Babylon, we all have our dreams, now I wonder do I live in a castle made of air, a big lie, a big fuck up?

 

What goes around comes around…