Monday, 10 November 2014

Then I Roar

I'm lost for words.  

Therefore I read.  

I allow myself to be entwined in a world of fiction where the characters lives are merely a reflection of reality.  They dance through pages creating gnawing images in my mind and leave me wondering what next? Who next?  Where next?  

Why is it, when I'm lost for words, words are the only hings I can find?  Is it that they give me comfort where human interaction fails?  Or that they cause little confusion and allow me to think deeply, yet not to think a all.  

I can bury myself in the horror of them and allow the magic to tickle at my senses.  I wait as crosses threaten to hang noughts and hold my breath as a 'mongrel' baby falls asleep for what might be her last time.

What is it about this language that stops me from communicating my thoughts however forces me into a world where only the thoughts of others are visible?

Why is it that when my mouth stays closed my mind remains open?  Like a caged lion it eats up all that is thrown and releases nothing but the occasional incomprehensible roar.

I'm sorry.

I'm lost for words.

Therefore I read.
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