Mine eyes, they are weeping

Oh, my one, my only, my darling. I wanted to leave you something beautiful. It has always been my dream, and even now, in what can only be the twilight of my long, beautiful day with you, all I can think of is leaving you with something you can treasure, something worthy of you, of your ethereal beauty, your timeless, ageless and breathtaking depth, wisdom. I fear that I shall fail, for a task like this seems only too gargantuan; for me, for anyone. But I can try; and if trying was worth as much as succeeding, I would succeed for you a million times over.

I can't really go anywhere from here. It's just writing, just words.


Oohhhh I am so sick of this. Writing, no, it's wrong, no more. Stop. Process. Misuse of language. Anger. Frustration. Inadequaecy. More anger. Contemplation. Confusion. Obfuscation. Oh. My. My. No, he doesn't approve. No, he doesn't get it. No, no one likes that.

What is this, dissertation? Unending, boring, platform shoes. Unetching pain and blinking eyes against driving rain. I can't decide which version of the truth to expound. Oh this is so frustrating. I can't follow a thought, I can't hold it, they come and go. Why so many negations? Why can't you just fucking write, get it over with, stop holding this cloud over your head, influence the weather and pull the fucking curtains closed on this. Oh stop it. STOP. You see. Anger. I AM SO ANGRY. I just wish a man could understand why I want to go and bury my head in the clay with some saltbush and sandalwood at my ankles. Ankles. Aaaaankles. Kles. Kneekneeknees. Ysmelda. Floor contact. Bah.

So, I have disserted little. I have failed. I should clairvoyify the rest of my life. Just go on and on. Why would you do that, that thing, that you did. Why would you say, those things, that you said. Why would you be and then be not to be, do what you do without doing a thing? I leave you; chrome mesh.