If I continued to write the story of my life,
What kind of story would I tell?
Do I speak of the wonderlust destroyed by daemons?
Or perhaps the meditations that drove me into Hell?
Power craving,
In madness I am left raving,
On streets I sit staring,
the darkness in my head is blaring.
Cults, travel, my heart unraveled...
Lost, found, told I was fate-bound.
Prophecies, visions, a calling, hard decisions.
Is there a lesson here?
Was there anything there to be learned?
Do I give the story to others as a warning?
Or is it something to strive for- showing dedication when I yearned?
What kind of story would I tell?
Do I speak of the wonderlust destroyed by daemons?
Or perhaps the meditations that drove me into Hell?
Power craving,
In madness I am left raving,
On streets I sit staring,
the darkness in my head is blaring.
Cults, travel, my heart unraveled...
Lost, found, told I was fate-bound.
Prophecies, visions, a calling, hard decisions.
Is there a lesson here?
Was there anything there to be learned?
Do I give the story to others as a warning?
Or is it something to strive for- showing dedication when I yearned?
------
I am always being told to write the story of my life because people find my stories fascinating. It's usually something having to do with how they are shocked at my cunning or determination...or they revel in all the things I have survived. The chances I took, the leaps I made without looking...people admire that. Also the funny stories...there are the tales that make people laugh.
But do they know the prices I paid for the tales? Do they even know of the set behind the curtain of that stage? They see it for its goodness, its wholesomeness (at times). They like the surprise and it's something to look back at (usually) and laugh and marvel.
But there are then these times at night or early morning...when I am exhausted but sleep alludes me. I can feel it creeping up on me...my anxiety, the memories, things I wish I could drown out. The stress eats at me and every day feels like the hardest day of my life. I think about writing my story until I realize it's not an inspiring story...but moreso a tragic tale. Then I come here because I am feeling alone, and feeling like too tell anyone else would be to bother them when they most likely have problems all their own.
But what would I say in the story of my life? What could I possibly have to offer anyone?? Especially now...?
