- Books, Literature, and Writing
I've been here before not sure not knowing revealing what I don't know what I'd like to know, I think.
I'm not sure which way to go I hate not knowing which way to go to the old or to the new?
I don't mind asking help me tell me But when you do I wont want to accept it.
It doesn't feel right like a coat that's too tight too constricted Or one that's too big too heavy cumbersome.
So I creep into a corner and it gets smaller closing in no room for me I find a bigger one I go there but it doesn't feel safe It scares me They tell me to stay there.
Try it for a while there is room for new ideas But I worry how will I recognize them? How will I know if they're good or if they're bad? And where should I put them when I find them?
They float before me but when I reach for them they fall apart like charred bits of paper rising from a bondfire. I touch them and they shatter in my hands.
I press them to my head and wait, hoping they will seep inside to someplace deep within my mind, entwining and combining to form new ones.