Camera

and I bought a camera to document a life, to romanticise moments, keep them burned heavily upon blank film? What life? I bought a camera as a symbol of the senseless hope I harbour, the one that flies and shatters every single day, every single time I try to walk beyond the borders of my door, or possibly beyond my second skin. But everytime I bare the crowd so that eyes don't turn in their sockets, turn spotlights onto me, start digging at my wall, everytime I bare that crowd I re-enter thinking, tomorrow I need to by some stainless steel to reinforce my skin.

I see the vicious cycle that heightens with the heavy padding until I decide to break it for fear of being desensitized, for fear of letting life pass by without experiencing experiences outside my head. it is the moment when I wake up and the dreams are not enough, so I take a club to the wall and break it, saying, 'today I will not see the street, today I will touch the street'. but the street bites back with sold images, with the inclination to crush anything that burns, to take out its frustration on already frustrated souls. And in response, in heavy response, I reel and vault back into my box where I fester and simmer and sleep for the calm awakening, but recently it is taking longer hours for me to purge daggers. so with bruised blood and ravaged guts I will take myself to the street and slap the tar.

but i say these things when i am within. and my only outlet has been my letter to the anonymous world. but I cannot house my frustration against an iron maiden of rolled faces. and i don't think i've heard a positive thing come out of your mouths unless the image was suitable.

this is why i like hippies. and i am going to let the sun shine in. but the sun needs windows and an empty room so it can cascade. and right now this camera is but a solid satire of a life i think i wish i had.