A guitar player is loved by all and I can't seem to hold on to him.
I'm a self-pity maestro. But I do not go gentle into that good night anymore. A dream of New York, impossible or not, is the only fuel I need to power my rage.
Against meaninglessness, I employ studying. Against self-accusations, practical plans to improve myself. Against apathy, exercise. Against depressive introspection, decisive action to help the lonely. And against all the darkness of world and soul, I deploy my entire arsenal of music, candles, writing, chocolate and wine, DVDs, fantasy novels, gypsy necklaces, vintage clothes, text messaging, Twitter and a little prayer.
I force myself to stare intensely at the beautiful and weird things around me and love them, for f's sake.
1 comment:
rage, rage against the fading of the light!
Post a Comment