READ ME ... yeah, right. Right?

I'm sick of everyone else having on-line diaries. I want one too.

What is this all about? Maybe you should read the READ ME READ ME.

january 17, 1996: a return to blissful morbidity

today was a wonderful day. i feel a rebirth of that emotion that inspires me: angst.

i often think, if i am so unhappy, why then do i live? what i wuss i must be!
perhaps i am happy? a poem. a happy poem.

if all else fails
and i do too,
i'll throw it out
and start anew.

and when my past
looks bleak and dark,
i will have begun
to leave my mark.

and when ideas
stop to flow
i'll know then that
it's time to go

but for now
my heart shall beat
until my project
is complete.

i've not lived long,
i've not learned much
i've whined and moped
about work and such.

i've touched a few,
i've bristled some.
i've kissed and then
have had to run.

i've called myself
a victim, too.
i've blamed others
for my being blue.

i've taken drugs
to stop the pain,
and when i'm sad
a smile i feign.

i really want to sing again.
i am a mess.
i am insane.

i stumble, fumble,
miss the mark,
i try to bite,
but only bark.

i boast and brag,
tell stories tall.
i want people in,
but build a wall.

i live alone,
i watch t.v.
i dream of other
ways to be.

i hate myself,
i wish to die,
but then i stop
figure why

i live, to feel
the smallest joys.
the signal
in the field of noise.

the thrill, the rush
make that cliche
come true for me.





or, if you must, back to Rebecca's Revenge

Copyright 1996 Rebecca Eisenberg