new blog same as the old blog

the desire-to the urge-to. some people would call it a well that fills up and overflows. but is this really the case? is there a finite amount of desire? is there a finite amount that once worn through, once swallowed-down is gone? or is desire more infinite than all the uniquely-identical snowflakes that have fallen since forever? perhaps it is the running that is finite. the running from the urge, the running from desire. perhaps my forgetting-actions can only carry me too far before their legs become nubs on the end of my pencil.
it is a new chapter without legs.
is the urge-to an ocean that spreads across reality, rocking it with waves.
is the desire-to a need that is never full filled, that can be placated with alcohol and typing.
how do you do it? how do you sit there and not feel it get caught up in the day to day in the today that you want to go away? do you not feel the desire-to, the urge-to, the pull of the cord that cannot be cut?
what is depression but a pulling against the cord that pulls through.
what is sadness but an attempt to fray the knots that tie-to.
what is melancholy but the realization that looking backwards only makes things smaller faster.
i feel the urge-to the desire-to: create, get out of here, move on, go go go go go go, and it pulls and pulls from above, and even from below.
stupid urge and ignoble desire, dumb drawing forth, deriding cause of little effect, annoying pain that turns the screw, feeble whispers that never make me do anything, retarded noise that speaks in backward-midget mind games, idiotic ideal of the never achievable, yellow cracked image painting of my future, nerf goad-prod, ineffective changer of nothing, did i say feeble, did i say emasculated, did i say daft and deranged, grumpy miser of thought-trains? did i say hello kitty never coming, did i say prodigal son, did i say misanthrope and rapscallion? drowsy pill eating mornings and caffeinated sleep contradiction in form and shape too many things to do to listen to you up and running and here i'm coming but i'm going nowhere down and under and over grown feelings of hate for the force that pushes me towards the same that i've tried to avoid. the eraser is gone and metal scrapes the page that i try to obliterate.
this is the reason
this is the rhyme
this is the fucking borderline that i walk between regret and acceptance
this is the wherefore art thou

this is my creative muse.