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The anger of angels that won't return
Mar. 9th, 2007 05:43 pmI can't live like this anymore.
I told myself college would be better. No, I told myself college would fix it. I lied and lied, pacifying myself with the dream that I'd find love or acceptance and that I could be myself just around the next corner. That an ugly, nerdy, zealous fag would find a place where he belonged.
But let's be realistic. I don't belong anywhere they've made yet. In the great peg game of life, I'm a tetracontakaidigon and holes for that don't come around nearly enough for me to get one.
I don't have friends anymore. The ones in Arlington are too far removed, and the ones in Rhode Island are merely marking time - I won't be seeing any of them again after college. This was supposed to be a new era for me, but it wasn't supposed to be so desolate. I've lost whatever good things I had, and I don't know where to get more. The most beautiful thing in my life is also a foul and corrupt organization in service of a God who can't give hugs. Although, these days that simply makes him rather a lot like his creatures. If he's coming let him come already. The tribulations we put ourselves through aren't nearly as bad as what's predicted for us.
Everything is empty. Everything is hollow. The only people and things which love me I don't love back. And I just want to go backwards. Start over. Set up the pieces and see if I can find something I didn't get the first time. I am running out of hope, and the world challenges faith daily, and love doesn't abide. There is no dawn, and joy isn't coming. That's the fourth virtue, the one Paul forgot. Funny how nobody knows it.
So I feed the darkness. I feed it rosaries and praise and worship music. I feed it singles and quods. I feed it hormones and alcohol. I feed it Greek vocabulary and emperors and gospels. I feed it the Chapel Basement, even though I never have work to do. I feed it Buffy. I feed it and feed it, and all it does is consume, and there isn't anything it doesn't eat. Isn't anything it can take that will satisfy it. The coming dark demands every world, every friendship, every mask and personality I've made for myself, and I don't have anything else to give it anymore. I'm stripped raw, sitting here.
And it's still cold and sunless, and I still don't have the guts to run.
So yeah, I'm just a petulant teenager, and yeah, I'm sore over nothing, and yeah, everyone feels alone. Yes, it's all juvenile melodrama. But I don't know how to beat it.
And I don't have the guts to run.
I told myself college would be better. No, I told myself college would fix it. I lied and lied, pacifying myself with the dream that I'd find love or acceptance and that I could be myself just around the next corner. That an ugly, nerdy, zealous fag would find a place where he belonged.
But let's be realistic. I don't belong anywhere they've made yet. In the great peg game of life, I'm a tetracontakaidigon and holes for that don't come around nearly enough for me to get one.
I don't have friends anymore. The ones in Arlington are too far removed, and the ones in Rhode Island are merely marking time - I won't be seeing any of them again after college. This was supposed to be a new era for me, but it wasn't supposed to be so desolate. I've lost whatever good things I had, and I don't know where to get more. The most beautiful thing in my life is also a foul and corrupt organization in service of a God who can't give hugs. Although, these days that simply makes him rather a lot like his creatures. If he's coming let him come already. The tribulations we put ourselves through aren't nearly as bad as what's predicted for us.
Everything is empty. Everything is hollow. The only people and things which love me I don't love back. And I just want to go backwards. Start over. Set up the pieces and see if I can find something I didn't get the first time. I am running out of hope, and the world challenges faith daily, and love doesn't abide. There is no dawn, and joy isn't coming. That's the fourth virtue, the one Paul forgot. Funny how nobody knows it.
So I feed the darkness. I feed it rosaries and praise and worship music. I feed it singles and quods. I feed it hormones and alcohol. I feed it Greek vocabulary and emperors and gospels. I feed it the Chapel Basement, even though I never have work to do. I feed it Buffy. I feed it and feed it, and all it does is consume, and there isn't anything it doesn't eat. Isn't anything it can take that will satisfy it. The coming dark demands every world, every friendship, every mask and personality I've made for myself, and I don't have anything else to give it anymore. I'm stripped raw, sitting here.
And it's still cold and sunless, and I still don't have the guts to run.
So yeah, I'm just a petulant teenager, and yeah, I'm sore over nothing, and yeah, everyone feels alone. Yes, it's all juvenile melodrama. But I don't know how to beat it.
And I don't have the guts to run.
