Jaded

Its a funny thing isn't it: how a song can capture exactly what your feeling in the right proportions? Except this time I don't think its Steven Tyler's fault...its mine. I've lived far too well, far too quickly.

Sometimes I wish that I could enjoy life as I used to when I was a child; enjoyment came to me so easily. There was row of tall bushes in my backyard that I built a tunnel through. Swinging from branch to branch I would find my favorite spot and sit for hours to stare at the sunset. I would think of nothing: snippets of Disney songs would pour through my head. I would be happy.

Sentiment especially has wearied me beyond measure. As a youth I was volatile and always in love. Now I have turned to be Byronic, at best. I have tried to love since last December and all attempts have withered as the autumn leaves. I have brooded, I have sucked my rivers dry of feeling until what I contain is mud. Thick, velvety, marsh-mud; the type that looks pretty at first and stinks once you draw too near.

My nerves have quaked within me for want of longing. My stomach churns... my lungs collapse...my liver screams to be set on fire again. I wish to climb a mountain and roll off from it singing. Anything to be broken free from the gelatin stasis that I've placed myself in.

And all at once I want to fall back to sleep. It is morning now, but I do not wish it to be. I'm tired of the sun, and of the trees. I'm tired of the dew, and of the fresh morning air, and of waking. Wake the world if you must, oh Sun!--but please, do not wake me. These months I've been too tired, and much too dry.

I'll shut my eyes. I'm far too sleepy.