Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Mess
He thinks he can write you out of his heart, but he's wrong. It just doesn't work that way. We find solace the only way we know how to, in the heart of a maelstrom of creative ferocity with scathing words and agonized phrases and poems to break all hearts who read, but in the end the writing only makes it worse, aleviating the pain for a few brief moments, piercing the boil of our brokenness and letting the poison out in an obscene flow of mangled thoughts only to find another sprung up a few inches left of centre that's as deadly as the first.
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3 comments:
This piece was... erm... confusing to read at first. But I think I get it now.
The one place that niggles at me is "boil of our brokenness". Somehow it doesn't fit, in my mind.
But otherwise: I Highly Approve.
For some reason I feel like I've read this before. But maybe that's just because it's so relatable it feels like I've been thinking about this exactly and it's just finally solidified into words :P It's....just beautiful. All of it. You really are master of words. Wonderful concept (if you can call it a concept really? Feels weird defining it as that...), wonderful words. I love you <3
I have to agree with Bernerd Soubreh on this one. The word "brokenness" struck me as odd and I thought it was because of my mood the other day. Today, I'm in a completely different mood and it still struck me as odd after rereading it.
However, I can relate to this as I've had this inner debate myself. Is writing about someone really cathardic or not?
I guess both, right?
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