Description: This is another of my journals. As I said on the first of these, I will be saving my journals as submissions. I'm actually particularly proud of this one, and thats a very rare thing since im so self conscious of my writing. Then again my journals are free writing so they dont fall into any major category of literature.
This one captured my feelings almost perfect and, though it may get a little corny or what have you, it still sounds to me like it flows rather well. I like the sound of it when read out loud.
Thats it, thanks for reading if you did, if you didn't, thanks still for swinging by.
The uncertainty on which I'd grown to depend is begging to take effect. And the stones that I'd imagined fade away.
Should I stay or should I go? Not of mind, but place. Of peace or good, truth. What I want, live; What they need, me.
It seems that pain of those I need feed its laughter. Those doors that stood among the walls rust, but it isn't time that does the deed, but their own tears. Watery chains pull them away from me.
The question becomes one of vagueness. A question no truth can answer. What do I do?
Nothing.
What I've always done, and what im pushed to do. Nothing. Still I stood on sandy fires, oases called me and seemed to lift me off the flames on winds of hand of arms of hearts. How soon those broke, how fast I fall.
Submission Name: Journal 3
