I'd Hoped For A Different Result

There is no comfort in the palms that support my spidery fingers as they peruse the keyboard tonight.

My artwork is inapplicable in a changing environment.
My ideas are reverseable like a jacket.
My confidence is sailing low towards the sea.
Yet my prospects seem bright, and I don't know why.
This internal motivation to continue building has yet to cease.
I cannot stop trying to improve myself internally and externally.
I cannot ever be truely happy, by your terms love.
But that fact alone brings me joy you cannot imagine.

I will never be complacent, lazy, wasteful.
I will always know that at least I'm trying

And that's more than I can say for him.

I posted last night with harsh tones, reflecting on all of my friends individually. I deleted it because I realized I lost the purpose of this project. This is something bigger than me because it is less real than me. I can bend my reality here. This is not a place to show you the knots and sores where reality bent me.

I will continue writing and trying to tell you a different story nightly, although I have already become repetitive, finding a niche at most. More than likely I will become like any antiquated songwriter, always searching to explain that story that has always compelled them. Or perhaps a madman on the street, shouting that the end has been coming since the late 60's.

I hope you forgive me for my temporary lack of self control, these spurts come on sometimes. I think I whine too much but there is so much whining left to be done beneath my surface. If I can salvage my mind into something that reality cannot grasp with it's leathery talons, perhaps I can retain that force of power that can never be fully described.

Motivation, guilt, experience, knowledge, power, charisma, prowess, instinct, mood, shape, form, light, talent, color, word.

These unspeakable terms I find myself holding just on the tip of my tongue, waiting to be whispered into your ready ears.

Let me resume my mission.