Wednesday, 30 July 2008

Where is Carolyn?


By Carolyn Ursabia (July 30th, 2008 at 11:56AM)

Maybe she never existed.
Maybe she’s dead
From all the things thought of her
That got stuck in her head.
If we read all the histories
And get trapped in the past
We’ll discover her head
Was stuck far up her ass.
She got sick of people
And tired of life
She didn’t even try not to share
All the pain and the strife
With everyone around her,
Anything that could hear.
Even inanimate objects
Because she was no longer clear
In her mind on the difference
Between those who care and who don’t,
Who thinks and who doesn’t,
Who loves and who won’t.
She drives herself crazy
Wishing she could just be
Ignorant and happy
But unfortunately,
She hears every whisper
Can see every truth
Can feel every texture -
Silky and uncouth -
Is made ill by her feelings,
Driven mad by her heart,
Wanted understanding
For all that she ‘art’.
But she knows it can’t happen -
Won’t happen -
She tried.
She opened her heart
And found that it lied
About whom to share time with
Or trust with her thoughts.
It made her believe in
The things that she knew she ought not.
But the heartache reminds her
Of what she should be -
Cold, cynical, uncaring,
Lonely.
Me.
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