HOME
I'm staring out into the night,
And trying to hide the pain.
I'm going to the place where love
and feeling good don't ever cost a thing,
And the pain you feel's a different kind of pain.
I'm going home to the place where I belong,
where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm running from you know I think you got me all wrong,
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old,
So I'm going home.
-Chris Daughtry
Monday, May 22, 2006
1:50 AM
The last entry is probably the first entry in the history of my writings thus far, to almost completely articulate what I want to say. Every other entry or essay I've written seems to be lacking one thing or another that I can't fanthom. It usually has a pretty darn beautiful beginning, a poetic body and a sorry excuse of a conclusion and I've no idea why. Maybe it's cos I lose steam towards the end, unsure of what the whole point of writing the particular entry is. Most of the time, I'm just talking to myself, no?
But it's almost 2 in the morning and I can't seem to catch any sleep. The battle's that has been raging in my head for the longest time ever is finally silenced, which leaves me slightly more at peace with myself. The flip side is, the good guys have been extermined, and the only ones left standing are little horned figures with pitchforks and arrowed tails.
It's been a good battle I think, the guys with angels' wings always had the odds stacked against them but they held up for pretty darn long against what is inevitable.
I feel like the long and jagged glass bit stuck in my heart forever has been exposed again, and it gives people a cheap thrill to twist it and watch the agony on my face. It gives them a rush to watch the rivers of blood that flows down my torso and the pain that words can't articulate.
I know it's corwardly to ask, but if He be so mighty, could He put me out of this misery?Fuck I'm so going to burn in hell.
