my mind is a bog. a muddy puddle of everything that is unclear or forgotten--discarded furnitures, rotting bones, leaves and twigs that trees have refused to take in as their own--everything that has no home had found a home in my mind. my mind is a bog.
where will i go? every bridge had been burned and no road lay before me… only a barren desert as dry as my soul.
somewhere in my past, i was sure a power beyond me spoke to my heart and promised me a future that is beyond my imagination.. that i have an irreplaceable place in the universe. i thought i was destined for greatness. but after all the struggling, the toil, waiting and the pain, after all the time that had all wound up in the bog that is my mind, i am no longer sure. maybe that was just my imagination. and nothing is real unless one can see it and feel it, and measure it.
the truth is… dreams don't come true. and those people who had what they wanted, they are freaks of nature, special cases, or what we may call "miracles". they are just lucky. there is a scarcity of luck nowadays.
the truth is… people convince themselves that they are happy with what they've got because there is no other way to pacify the surges of regrets or adrenaline of hopes for things that will not come. there is no other way but just to choose to be happy or to drown in misery. and only in that sense is happiness a choice.
don't believe what i say, my mind is a bog. a muddy and cloudy mess of all my blighted hopes. my mind is a bog.
where will i go? every bridge had been burned and no road lay before me… only a barren desert as dry as my soul.
somewhere in my past, i was sure a power beyond me spoke to my heart and promised me a future that is beyond my imagination.. that i have an irreplaceable place in the universe. i thought i was destined for greatness. but after all the struggling, the toil, waiting and the pain, after all the time that had all wound up in the bog that is my mind, i am no longer sure. maybe that was just my imagination. and nothing is real unless one can see it and feel it, and measure it.
the truth is… dreams don't come true. and those people who had what they wanted, they are freaks of nature, special cases, or what we may call "miracles". they are just lucky. there is a scarcity of luck nowadays.
the truth is… people convince themselves that they are happy with what they've got because there is no other way to pacify the surges of regrets or adrenaline of hopes for things that will not come. there is no other way but just to choose to be happy or to drown in misery. and only in that sense is happiness a choice.
don't believe what i say, my mind is a bog. a muddy and cloudy mess of all my blighted hopes. my mind is a bog.