DangerousLuck
17th July 2009, 03:35 AM
--By no means do I consider myself a poet or any kind of artist in any respect, but I just put down some words to try and explain a feeling I get quite often. I'm sure many of you can relate and, if not, lucky you. :suspect:
What ADD Tastes Like
I pick up a pencil and stare at a blank sheet of paper in front of me. The blank sheet of paper stares back. :wiggle:
These crooked broken nails etching letters into my brain force me to stare ahead, my body feeling like its vibrating with expectation, but nothing happens. The low, dull growl in the recesses of my brain will soon turn into a full-fledged howl as I continue to refuse to stimulate my spoiled, angry, hungry mind. It's almost separate from my consciousness, aching for feeling, for information, for chemicals but offering no way to satiate itself. My body is generally calm, all the more infuriating to my revved up, but idling id. It's like staring into a void but feeling it pulsate and try to pull you inside of itself, swallowing you to derive some sense of self, of reality. A blank sheet of paper slapping you in the face as it flaps in the wind. It's saying, "Hey! I'm here! Here I am! Do something about it!" but it's just a blank sheet with nothing written. When you finally relent and stop trying to get the paper off your face, but instead pin it to a surface, intending to write on it, you can think of nothing to put on it. Then, a thousand eyes watch as you stare at the blankness, the blankness staring back, everything expectant, expecting you to create, to articulate, to do something, anything, to be productive! :aargh4:
I put the pencil down and stare at the blank piece of paper. The blank piece of paper stares back. A thousand eyes from behind the curtains, behind the walls, behind the closet, behind the fabric of reality stares at me, but I am unable to stare back at those eyes. Are they whispering, too? Are they also saying, "Do something. Do something. Create. Produce. Do something?" I don't know, because even if the eyes that I cannot see are attached to voices, I cannot hear them. But I can feel the incessant urging. :banghead:
I crumple up the piece of paper and throw it carelessly across the room. I will catch it glancing at me for days and hear its mockery for weeks. :indiffere
--Smileys added specifically for Rorta.
What ADD Tastes Like
I pick up a pencil and stare at a blank sheet of paper in front of me. The blank sheet of paper stares back. :wiggle:
These crooked broken nails etching letters into my brain force me to stare ahead, my body feeling like its vibrating with expectation, but nothing happens. The low, dull growl in the recesses of my brain will soon turn into a full-fledged howl as I continue to refuse to stimulate my spoiled, angry, hungry mind. It's almost separate from my consciousness, aching for feeling, for information, for chemicals but offering no way to satiate itself. My body is generally calm, all the more infuriating to my revved up, but idling id. It's like staring into a void but feeling it pulsate and try to pull you inside of itself, swallowing you to derive some sense of self, of reality. A blank sheet of paper slapping you in the face as it flaps in the wind. It's saying, "Hey! I'm here! Here I am! Do something about it!" but it's just a blank sheet with nothing written. When you finally relent and stop trying to get the paper off your face, but instead pin it to a surface, intending to write on it, you can think of nothing to put on it. Then, a thousand eyes watch as you stare at the blankness, the blankness staring back, everything expectant, expecting you to create, to articulate, to do something, anything, to be productive! :aargh4:
I put the pencil down and stare at the blank piece of paper. The blank piece of paper stares back. A thousand eyes from behind the curtains, behind the walls, behind the closet, behind the fabric of reality stares at me, but I am unable to stare back at those eyes. Are they whispering, too? Are they also saying, "Do something. Do something. Create. Produce. Do something?" I don't know, because even if the eyes that I cannot see are attached to voices, I cannot hear them. But I can feel the incessant urging. :banghead:
I crumple up the piece of paper and throw it carelessly across the room. I will catch it glancing at me for days and hear its mockery for weeks. :indiffere
--Smileys added specifically for Rorta.