Work-end out of sight
I think that you could call this an essay. :S I wrote it an afternoon when I was really fed up with homework and "important" meetings etc. I was kindof mad at real life and wanted to dwell in the arts, but had no time for it :-/
Enjoy and feel free to vote/comment.
-Daelin
Everybody is calling for me. Wanting me. Wanting to change me. To build a landscape of their own on my back.
What are you expecting from me?
How come this coat is so soaked?
I fight; striding through oceans of dead, ink-drenced trees, not getting damn closer to anything that matters. Some mysterious force must be working against my progress. Maybe it is life itself. Or maybe it is your goddamn ignorance
So what are you expecting from me?
What do you value so much as to spend your miserable time on it?
I crawl and crawl through the webs, but the spiders are always out of sight. Out of reach. Walls are everywhere. Always. Endlessly. I am tired. So damn tired! But I cannot sleep because I know that the sleeping will drown before they wake.
What are you expecting from me?
From whom can you expect anything at all, when it seems so damn obvious that our little snail trails are in vain?
What can you expect?