Sunday, October 2, 2011

Hold Your Hand

Dark rooms and laying.
Smoking and swaying.
Driving without reason.

The habits we create for replacing nothing.
I once knew trust.
But it has never been a friend.

And my mind plays with guitar riffs,
Like trees dance with wind.

Meditating within instead of without thought.

I swim through tangled webs.
Struggling, scared I will soon drown without air.

But I refuse to keep it simple.
This is the place Ill always be,
if you try to look for me.

But you can't enter somebody's hell.
Only your own.

Some find the exit door and lock it.
I keep away, and turn to shades.

Because even when the shades are down,
And I cant't see the sun.
It somehow shines outside each window.
Beating on frigid glass. 

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

Painful. Beautiful.

Brittany said...

You have no idea how much I appreciate you taking time to read and post a comment.

I find it most encouraging, to never give up writing.

Ed Pilolla said...

a rich, dark display of a lonely place.
i must have read beating on frigid glass seven or eight times.

Anonymous said...

Be well, B. And thank you for giving meaningful voice to my own feelings. Usually, writing serves my depression well and vice versa. Not always, though. This is one of those creative lulls.

Brittany said...

Wow. Thank you.

This blog and all the people who have been following has become my favourite place, separated from the world of reality I strive to escape from.

S. said...

Your writing is addicting.

Brittany said...

I've never gotten that before. Thank you.

the truth about freedom

The space between inhale and exhale the space between stars fill up with air, and collapse into dust I walk a sunlit path and breath...