There's
no such thing as a true stream of consciousness. Only filtered thoughts
and feelings, guided by the undefined impetus that seemingly distinguishes
right from wrong. Oh how it would be, to preserve the electrical
energy that sparkles in my brain, to hold onto these tingling thoughts like
lightning bugs, to know who I am truly am.
My body is a coffee maker,
taking beans of blood to produce a diluted pot of sensations and
feelings. Something surely must be lost.
I've
felt this feeling before. That welling in my eyes that springs down
into my chest. The forgotten wisdom of an amnesiac with life's answers
dangled just out of reach. If I knew who I really was, I wonder if I'd
be able to recognize myself.
The lost song. Ensconced in me somewhere, a melody goes unplayed.
The lyrics of life, unsung.
No comments:
Post a Comment