ireallythought

The whirring is overwhelming, it takes over my every breath. Why can’t it stop? I just want to be freed. What do I have to do to find it? I’m so damn tired of sleepless nights and empty days as the potential trickles out and forms into waves as time like sand breaks the waves. It can and will drive anyone mad. The lack of freedom from the loud noise, never ceasing to end. Dreams have become nightmares and days are for the daydreams. Dreams in the day of unachievable goals that move how like a shoal. A dream purgatory if it needs to be titled. How do you heal someone who is terminally ill? Maybe medicine or do you let them go to find a better peace beyond. How does one find this better space? Do you wait or drive forward checking the prison doors to see if they have loosened over time. Life is the sentence and I live to serve. It would be easier to give up and raise the white flag high instead of be rendered completely and utterly powerless over the reality that resides. All I do is wait to hope and hope to wait. Waiting for what I’m not sure, maybe the sky will fall and then things can move from there. I want to fight but I’m not sure the direction of which to direct this roaring fire inside. If a blind man fights a war does he detonate an explosion he feels he could ignite by feeling? Would he take the shrapnel or gain a new vision. Would he move up a space in this life size chess or would he have fallen shot in the chest. I don’t know if it’s worth it but maybe it’s worth it to die trying instead of crying. At least the effort would be there if he died trying. Maybe he could cry a river and wash up ashore. Maybe he’d be lucky and sail straight out of the war in his mind. Maybe he’d acquire minimal damage and a pocket of potential luck would befall him. Trapped like a rat in the “perfect” reality known as prison. Held captive but for how long? Smile they tell him we can at least see your smile as they blow smoke on him choking him out of existence. Maybe that is the key to the door of this so called prison. Maybe it could catch flame and he could see the light. He’s weak he needs cure, can destruction bring a new restitution? Or is he terminally ill? He’s weak is there no cure for a man seeking help? Will he die or can he find a solution to this mindless pollution. Who can save him? He was born a lover, now he’s a fighter. He loves to fight and lives to fight. Hopefully he won’t lose sight of the promises he’s told himself. Blind man sees what those who see cannot. Hopefully he’s casted back out to sea.

I was once born lover till I changed to become a fighter, or per say a lonesome writer.

-love the fighter

Mountains and valleys fight for height, while we all sleep peacefully through the night.