Heleleleleben

I hate the words that come out of my mouth. It goes here and there, sometimes bouncing where it shouldn't.

I hate the endless aspirations for the things I can't afford to accomplish...

I hate myself for targeting the high when all I ever want is to lie low and enjoy.

I told myself that acceptance is the key but the decisions I kept making weren't suited for thee.

I go round and round never making a progress. Sometimes sighing, sometimes not.

If only I could remember clearly...

Time and again I would attempt to end this sadness. ONCE AND FOR ALL.

I like to write down a formula for living, for my life, just so I will just keep following my program and never deviate from it.

But alas! Moments come that are unexpected. I impulsively shake off the dust and forget about anything.

Whatever those were, I don't quite remember. Only one thing is clear, my memory is hazy. Yes, it is indeed clear that my memory is failing me.

I must have been living a life I didn't have to or wasn't supposed to.

Sometimes I wanted to scold myself for being so impossible... I am very impossible sometimes.

Going to and fro. Not having a stance. Dreaming but not working. Sighing but not doing anything.

And life is weird, and it gets weirder by the day. As I hear stories about passing away, I panic and think about my demise.

When was the last time I could write poetry? When was the last time that I cried? When was the last time I had self-pity?

I don't remember clearly what made me lose all those--my rhyming poetry, my flowing tears, my self-pity...

I realize how I get duller by the day. Maybe wiser on the positive axis. And I can't blame anyone at this point.

My thoughts go from here to there. Like some lost puppy not knowing where to go.

I like to cry the tears like that yesterday, but I already dried my eyes.

I like to write as if there is no tomorrow, but my sleep is getting the better of me.

I like to fantasize and being in a drama I make on my own, but I lost my appetite.

Is it time to review and reminisce?

I'd like to cry and mourn, over the hermit who is now gone.

Gone to the woods or into the heart of another. No longer one. No longer a hermit.

Whatever happened to me, I am not sure anymore. Is it the prospect of suddenly leaving that is bleeding me to my untimely dullness?

I want to wonder more as I wander to the wonders of my fantasy. But this thing inside me...

I can't seem to forge myself for a newer hermit. I am no longer that. I can feel it in my bones.

I've become just a gadfly, not even knowing when to stop and when to let go.

I want to forge a new hermit. Within me. A new poet. If that is at all possible.

Someone who may have gotten used to the chegedeg I make at night as I type as a maniac may still sleep later due to questioning the reasons why I am not doing it anymore.

Perhaps, the trick is to just rest. For a day? No, two? A week. A month. Years?

No matter how much I make effort to plan and list things down, it is like nothing. I just get pissed off. That is all.

But then, remember that time? Have you already forgotten?

How could I? Oh... In the end, it is as I remember. It had been the turning point of my life and I was launched to a point that I could never return to the way it was.

Now I will say my gratitude... I thank the One above for saving me from myself... And now I think I can cry again.

After figuring out what has been causing my dullness, I think I can make a drama again.

Heleleleleben, heleleleleben, heleleleleben, ben bebenbenben! Awoooo... (2x)