Inelegant Design

Inelegant design, perhaps the stage will think it's mine. I wish to be rid of the physical and psychological exhaustion I put on myself. Love withers away, the pain is circumspect. 

Inelegant design, what future did we pine for in our youthful days of abandon. Someone can tell me when I'm not overcome with emotion.

Inelegant design, what of these presents we got each other. Do they carry much meaning outside of festive occasions? The wonder of life doesn't feel so special anymore. The dreams we had lost in our own respective conditions. 

The Source of Your Misery

 I am the source for your misery. The pathways of resentment slowly rising over when I lashed out. In a way I knew I was slowly being edged out of the equation. My frustrations built up and I had nowhere else to place them. But now we've made our peace. Brokered a deal which suits you best even if it pains me greatly that it came to this.

I'm not the one for grand sweeping statements or sentiments. You've often criticised me for not doing things you want me to. I cannot physically make it happen and when it does, inwardly I'm given hell for it. Considerations must go both ways.

The more you criticised, the more I felt I wasn't good enough. I guess you were hoping for the opposite effect. I am the source for your misery. The pain being involuntary. The more times the same bad memories brought up to shame had their desired effect. Words twisted beyond lives can mask. And all I ask is forgiveness.

I live with a haunted past, things that I want to bury but come back to life. The symptoms were shown to you on full display, you can see why I'm so brittle that the timidity shines through. The "best years" of your life tending to a broken man. Insulted, you insult him. I've made you sullen and insolent to all the bad memories you remember or misremember. But that's what happens in the consequence of time.

In the end what defines our sense of death is love and which type. The pain that paves the way for everything else. I'd rather play make-believe and settle for company than trying to play something that's uncomfortable for a number of reasons even if I'd like to be in that position. When the body disintegrates, you can't take the things you used to for granted. You always wanted more out of a severely asthmatic boy. I don't know if that was a sign of things to come.

I am the source of your misery. I take all the shame that I've caused. I'm only here to recover, you recount your humiliations - I'm sorry it got to a stage like this when I still love you and care for you deeply. I always knew I was going to fail at some point. I always hid the pain you caused me because there was always the feeling the more I try to voice them, the harder you would re-inforce the humilation I caused you. I don't want that to pass. I just want us to be happy.

I Won't Be Here For Long

So we're here with no way out. It's becoming a way of life right now. Too much to see, too little to do. I could've spent the night asleep but instead I'm rummaging through the pain. The sort of thing that happens now and again. But it'll be alright on the night even if stretches on one leg leave me to fall over. It's not very clever I know.

The pain is there though ringing in my brain the moment my shoulder sets off. Darts through the cervical ladder and becomes another symptom to add to the list. In a miniature, I can feel whatever embers of life within me drain away. Purposefully. But that's nothing new. We're looking at a life in misery trying to do simple exercises that tend to go nowhere. Skeletal frame being a numbers game.

My head, my back, my knee and my shoulder. The right side being destroyed. It's a terrible situation but one that I've become accustomed to. When you've been destroyed by humanity, there's little you can do but to accept fate. It's a hard but fair bargain. I'd like to run back through time and try to avert the process of my body falling apart. But that's the business of life.

If you can accept my proposal for all the things that are at our disposal then we can put pay to the other qualities that we're supposed to be about. Otherwise we're just left to decay in all sorts of ways. A political reprisal perhaps but maybe that's dismissing the traps set aside for another day. Either way, I'm here waiting for the wind to blow me over. Waiting for the fall that's too hard to get up from. I won't be here for long.

Bring About Their Idea of Utopia

The imitation paid well between the ears amongst the fears that's been going on for years. A shaded impact left with nothing to see but with the feeling of bruised love in its shadow. You may not like my views but at least we are respected for what we are. Just remember to stay silent when the time comes - a sentiment not shared by those around us.

You may remind yourself of all the things that went before. The tormented dreams of fantasists who bear the will of destruction to bring about their idea of utopia. Whatever that may entail. But they chastise those who don't see things that they do and cleverly manipulate history to create hostility. An eradication of mind, body and spirit and a cynical invention to win the hearts and minds of the apathetic.

You see us in the shadows ready to attack. We will use the fabric to lie and smear for what we want. Your governments, your ministers are all paid off and we will win in the end because that's what we believe. You'll only create more hostility if you're not with us. You cannot be against us on this.

All the wasted lives killed for one man's delusion. The pictures don't look good and the lies are not as convincing as before. All the money spent and what do we have? What do we gain out of this? Just another man with a God complex and his lackeys spilling blood in the hope that their clan will never go after them.

No Way To Live (The Chronic Illness Handbook)

And so we start again, in time, in space and feature out in a new maze. The depression sinks and weaves its way. Setting the music to match the way things are. But even if it were out of misery, there's nothing like what goes before. Even if we dance the dance and dream of better days, I'd be too weary to wave back. I'd be too weary to even focus on anything.

I find it exhausting in all honesty. I don't have the strength to maintain friendships and conversations. Just all too awkward and draining of my time and energy. A vastly depleted source of life. It's to my benefit that I still manage some on the right day. I wish there was a way out that was painless to everyone but to be a slave to commitments is all that I have left.

The source of pain lingers in all places. Transmitting itself wherever it goes. Autoimmunity has been compromised and takes it up another level. And what do you have left? I have nothing at all! So speaks the guy with all the ailments. Might not be that way but it gets very close. One step closer in painfully slow fashion. Knee braces help tremendously when they're not covered in sweat.

What sort of life do I live? What sort of life did I want? I could breathe with the anxiety of a hyperactive ghost, but I'm only working at a snail's pace. And that's no way to live.

What Was I Talking About Again?

The fog folds over me with a pressure of intentions. Cascading through reigns and making life pain of forgetfulness. The vibrations of modern life, the vicissitudes of venting spleen. All the blank heart, blank mind stares as we come crawling over the hill in blood and dungeon - a secret letter to our oncoming demise.

The mist lingers like any good soul and steals information without so much of a fuss. Rolling in bent double on the lawns, too many people have been forgotten in a sieve-like memory. I look forward to seeing how we debate our lives with the only thing that can come good to certain practitioners - the onset of damn lies!

Wherever you feel is the best way to go, whichever you feel should be the way to common decency, we'll fall into line grouchily to see whose lamb you slaughtered. We're not the same onlookers we were yesterday. We'll have a different opinion to suit our needs. And when the time comes, I'll tell you "What was I talking about again?"

Misread Intentions

Misread intentions - here's the glory boy's joy. Holed up in frustration over something that's pure. I don't even love you yet you fear for your life. Why interact when there are screens everywhere?

Misread intentions - no point in being coy. Just conversation is all I'm really asking. Friendship is not the same as romance. But second guessing intentions is an international sport. I'm sorry for interrupting I'd just thought I'd pass it on!

Misread intentions - stitched up to be the foil. I'd just appreciate honesty instead of dancing on my tiptoes around what is and what is not allowed. Mutual understanding remains demanding on a wavelength. Drift on away from the scene.

A sense from a broken time, another life. It's what they always say. Or rather what they don't. Leaving indecipherable hints when they could just say it.