Freedom

Just something that I wrote while winding down for the night, a few nights ago. Has a lot to do with the breakup and moving out of my ex.

Love is a fickle, cold, and cruel mistress or master.

Though it does have times that can be the best and the worst.

        And even with those horrid times, even while it feels hopeless,

        You bring me to life. You bring a spark back that reminds me of who I used to be

        And when I close my eyes, I can feel you there, your caring.

        Your concern, your platonic love.

        I know you're going to read this, and probably feel awkward.

        But this is my vent, this is my freedom. 

        Freedom. A curious term, isn't it?

        Give a man the ability to breathe and walk and think, and you can call him 'free.'

        Now, give that man a lifetime full of drug addicts, theives, lies and deceit.

        You'll look at him, and be so quick to label him as 'just another stupid kid with a chip on his shoulder.'

        You'll scoff, roll your eyes, and think him a fool.

        And inside, the man screams, wishes he could tear his heart to pieces, and forget.

        But he knows that he never will, knows that he cannot do this.

        Because he told. He couldn't keep his f*****g mouth shut.

        Tears, caused by every thing he's ever felt.

        Worry, caused by what he knows will happen to you.

        Depression. Solitude. Nausea. 

        Why can't he just pick one of the damn paths and stick to it?

        Why can he not... 

        Why can he not be happy with what is? 

        Why can he not want more?

        Why does he not know himself, his goals, his wants?

        Is it because She left? Or maybe it was Him, the one who hurt the most?

        

    Oh Well.

    Life moves on. People like him know this all too well.

Author's Note

The formatting didn't copy well from dA over to here. :