There are days when i brim over, there’s a whole explosion of words waiting to break free and i want to scream and kill somebody, then shoot myself. But my mouth just stays partly open, no words come out, and i just recoil back to the roots. I hate these days. i long to cry but i cant. and the frustration only gets worse with everything.
I often wonder what happened when Pandora opened that box. If it all seeped out and killed her, like phenol injected into the heart. Or if they spread out far and wide, like arrows with poisoned tips, or bullets. . infected the world with misery in all shapes and color. Pandora perished for sure . . and the box and its contents left us to perish a day at a time, in silence. . forbearing silence.
One of those bullets that has killed me so often, i’m sure was a bullet out of That box. I know i’m not the only one. but then i do live what i live. its so simple to bottle up. . if only i could always keep them corked. . set them out to sail into the sea. . and start filling afresh into a new bottle. they would then be like those secret messages, that no one would find; and in code, so no one would understand.
sometimes i wish i could unlearn. sometimes i hate to wish i could finally reach the end soon enough.
