I sold my soul for this?
There's a halo around the moon tonight, and though it's a distant orb, it still causes the sky to seep its navy ink, faintly glowing on the grass below.
I washed my hands of that for this?
I have a rash on my back from sitting too close to the fire; the raised welts, as I examine them in the mirror, overlie my scapulae and resemble the buds of an angel's wing tattoo.
I miss my mom and dad for this?
I went outside after midnight on the winter solstice, the longest night of the year. It was a clear night, and dark, and ice crystals crunched beneath my feet as I wandered out into the middle pasture. I could hear a faint breeze blowing, and far-off dogs barking, and the hum of the distant highway. I shivered and returned to bed.
No. When I see stars--
Procrastination culminates in cramming, and panicking, and pressure, and a week of sleepless nights, and stress, and then a hellish finals week at school, and then, as Eliot says, it ends with a whimper. For three weeks, my classmates and I part ways, and I return to my home for the holidays, and the old lethargy resumes. But I can't let it consume me. For in the apathy there is a hidden restlessness, a yearning for something greater, some unknown spark that can illuminate my path more plainly. I'm still stuck in limbo, but--
--when I see stars, that's all they are.
--I have to stay true to my path. I don't know why twenty-something angst has found me now; perhaps I just don't know how to handle my sudden free time these three long and lonely weeks. With nothing to keep my hands and mind busy, I go crazy from the boredom, and revert to old bad habits.
Well, that is it, guys, that is all.
Five minutes in, and I'm bored again.
Ten years of this, and I'm not sure if anybody understands
This one is not for the folks at home
Sorry to leave, Mom, I had to go
Who the fuck wants to die alone, all dried up in the desert sun?
So. It doesn't make sense right now. I guess it's not supposed to; everyone, if they think about things long enough, goes through these spells. So I'll cling to my anthemic lyrics, and put my nose back to the grindstone when classes resume, and face the new year before that with ever more forceful resolve. This is hardly a philosophical conundrum as it is a stoic resignation to see things through to the end, yet I am far from a martyr. On the contrary, I'm lucky and gifted and blessed (yesterday's Christmas has only confirmed that) and the signs I seek, perhaps, may not be in the stars at all but in something more mundane and tangible. I just have to trust myself.
Well, some nights I wish that this all would end
'Cause I could use some friends for a change
And some nights I'm scared you'll forget me again
Some nights I always win (I always win)
But I still wake up. I still see your ghost.
Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for, oh
What do I stand for? What do I stand for?
Most nights, I don't know....
Oh, come on....