A Black Feather, A poison pen... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ozymandias some nights the sooty residue of my memories makes me feel dirty. some nights it isn't enough to have made it through the other side of those days some nights the thought of it all and the decision making processes in my head that led me to and through the places i've been makes me feel colossally stupid i wonder if i'll ever come to terms with who and what i've been, with who and what i am? one seems so at odds with the other, i was crazy once, with litte or no hesitation and little or no conscience. now i feel callow... weak and foolish, no longer one of the wolves, but a sotted old bull, biding his time in a corral, the tips of its horns sawed off and capped, all theory and memory, but little else, maybe even less stoic than a bull, maybe just a scared rabbit, retreating into the depths of my burrow everytime i get startled. a certain measure of comedy in the thought that if any of those who used to be afraid or excited at the mention of my name saw me now, they'd wonder, in retrospect what all the fuss was about 10:59 p.m. - 2002-12-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||