project 52 / week 48 / suspended
48/52 // suspended and finite
Falling through all the layers, each one missed,
Suspended in versions of a life that will never exist.
Deep in imaginary worlds and timelines
—— But why is it never this timeline?
Will it always be like this — untethered?
Tied the tether tight and shot for the moon,
Only to forget, it’s always too soon.
It’s a long way down all on your own.
Remember this part, a lesson that I’ve blown.
Closed, quiet, less.
I thought you were infinite.
You found me to be finite.
My bright is too slight,
To hold back all my dark.
Grasp this, let go, keep the mark.
The world keeps turning.
I pretend to be busy.
Busy ——
trying not to think about it.
trying to fill my time.
trying not to quit.
Sometimes I wish I wrote songs. No one freaks out when a song pours out all the lonely words, says the things we only admit in the dark. Because my emotions control me and I want to express them, to get them out. I read somewhere that depression exists because there is “suppressed expression”. Something authentic that wants to be expressed, but is held back. Creativity. Truth. Change. Whatever it is, depression is the soul’s protest against a life that doesn’t fit. As an artist, you expose your own wounds, in order to heal them. But when you do, they linger, fester, never really gone. And if I could just write as I wished too… If I could just photographs as I desired… But I feel compelled to hide it. War of worlds in real time.
But it can’t stay within me, it has the power to eat me alive. So if I could just do it how I want… But didn’t we just tumble through this lesson for the fourth time? Closed, quiet, less. I keep falling through the same patterns, caught, suspended in finite. So which it is?
Commit to creation or protect what’s left of you?