Submissions by bignp

I sit.
In my desolate room.
No lights, no music.’
(system of a down - sugar)

I try, to write, to think.
Have an original thought.

‘Nothing is original.
Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration,
Fuels imagination.’
(Jim Jarmusch)

Maybe What I call original
is just the jumbled regurgitations of my machine.

‘Here comes the rain again,
falling from the stars,
drenched in the pain again.’
(green day – wake me up when September ends)

maybe I'm just not wired for...

I had a dream.
Not of grandeur or poverty.
Power or flight.
Race nor riot.
 
A dream of waking.
endlessly waking.
Sometimes sitting up in bed…
Then just waking.
 
Am I still there?
I may never know.
Or soon be there.

Every… nothing…
see… nothing… feel, nothing.
Think na… why? What?

I feel… I need to feel…

I, try, why can’t I see?
I, try, why cant I smell?
I try, why… what is that distant feeling?

Closer, bring it closer.

My eyes feel open. But are they?
I taste something… metal?
The pounding draws closer… or not?

where… who am I?

The pounding gets stronger,
it can’t get closer… why?
Inside, inside the cold.

Dull and blurry, I fee… no see.

Bright, so bright. ...