Facebook says ‘what’s on your mind?’
As though there’s some way to condense everything
Into a handful of characters:
Life and death and life and pain
Somehow distilled into words
That never tell the whole story;
Technical terms and notations
Try to remove all feeling,
Because it’s less exhausting that way.
Face after face after face,
Need after need after need,
“I want-”
“What do I do-”
“I feel terrible-”
“Fix this-”
And only sometimes
“Thanks for listening-”
“Thanks for trying-”
Emotions and nerves stretched as thin as tissue
Until the
The lines are drawn repeatedly
On mind, on bone, on soul,
They sink below the skin and fade
And yet, they never go.
The lines of happiness and guilt,
Of sorrow aged through time,
They layer softly, deep within
Becoming scars that bind.
Although I may forget a name,
I may forget a face,
I never will forget the pain
Of stories that I face.
I carry all the sorrow,
And I carry all the tears,
I cannot leave these weights behind
Despite the passing years.
But lest I come to hate the thing
To which I've sold my soul,
I also see the stories
That help to keep me whole.
I hear the times that people laughed,
I hear of families,
I h
Facebook says ‘what’s on your mind?’
As though there’s some way to condense everything
Into a handful of characters:
Life and death and life and pain
Somehow distilled into words
That never tell the whole story;
Technical terms and notations
Try to remove all feeling,
Because it’s less exhausting that way.
Face after face after face,
Need after need after need,
“I want-”
“What do I do-”
“I feel terrible-”
“Fix this-”
And only sometimes
“Thanks for listening-”
“Thanks for trying-”
Emotions and nerves stretched as thin as tissue
Until the
The lines are drawn repeatedly
On mind, on bone, on soul,
They sink below the skin and fade
And yet, they never go.
The lines of happiness and guilt,
Of sorrow aged through time,
They layer softly, deep within
Becoming scars that bind.
Although I may forget a name,
I may forget a face,
I never will forget the pain
Of stories that I face.
I carry all the sorrow,
And I carry all the tears,
I cannot leave these weights behind
Despite the passing years.
But lest I come to hate the thing
To which I've sold my soul,
I also see the stories
That help to keep me whole.
I hear the times that people laughed,
I hear of families,
I h
Currently suffering from an overdose of whimsy, which is almost as good as wine.
Current Residence: Somewhere Out There Favourite genre of music: Industrial/Goth/Rock Favourite photographer: Clyde Butcher Favourite style of art: Any Favourite cartoon character: Delirium
I've found that I tend to just use this place to intermittently post pictures and poetry, with very little space for journaling. At first, it used to bother me that I never seemed to add more, but I think at this point, I prefer my deviations to speak for me.
I find it distinctly disturbing that people will like one's photos/artwork/poetry enough to download them, yet not enough to comment. It somehow just feels sketchy. Thoughts?