Ramping Rant

My name is Andrew Guthrie. And right now I feel okay, even though I cannot feel a single sun-born ray. And in the blackness of this dark, I'll push on 'til the day. Droplets of sadness drip from my heart... are they naturally falling? Or ripped from the start? Was I born an empath, or did I forge this path? Sometimes feelings and perception get lost to conceptions of deception. Life is hard, and I'm striving with all my worth, some people though, they seem to glide and surf. I want it to be that easy, and I yearn to be that good. Yet I'd become queasy and burn as I wished I understood. There are specific stories my memory just invoked, when I was pinned to the ground and dominated: choked. A Fall evening when a baton bashed by forehead, how lucky I am, not to be dead. I'm sorry world, for what I have done. I'm sorry world, for what I haven't done. All the false hopes, all I tried to make fun.

I write when I am happy, but right now I am sad. And it might come off as sappy that my outlook is so bad. I lay in my bed staring at my alarm clock. Minutes slip to hours as seconds tick and tock. The light showed up, then the light went away. I neither breakfasted nor supped on the passing day. It really isn't so bad, I know this to be true, yet I can't shake the feeling of an ever present hue... everything in sight is a cold shade of blue. Isn't it Winter playing nasty tricks? Haven't I been previously tormented by his spiky frozen dick? I'm not so sure, but continue to doubt, why else would I rant? Why else would I pout? I'm not good enough, not very smooth, but not properly rough. Stuck in the middle without the right stuff.

But,

My name is Andrew Guthrie. I have to keep going; tripping while trudging to reap what I'm sowing. I'm working on a new way to bring music to the masses, but first I'll have to make a robot grasp it. Imagine it now, in all of its splendor, an orchestra fine-tuned, brought to you by Bender!

Am I in too deep? Bitten off more than I can chew? Should I be scared? Am I royally screwed?

No. No I'm not. But sometimes it feels like it, and it's important to realize it.

Overall, I'm happy. It's not so sad. Sometimes it's crappy, but it's not all that bad.

Bliss

When I see you walking, I want to hold your hand.

If I held your hand, I would seek a dance.

If we were dancing, I would look into your eyes.

If our eyes connected, I would sing to you.

And that song would be stifled by your lips.

My eyes would close, but I'd see bliss.

Smile

You know you've felt down awhile.

Joyous thoughts seem out of style...

Tremendous tasks stack and pile.

Toil verifies the vile.

But...

Real shortcomings seldom rile

your tough trudge through every mile.

May this poem be the vial

that when sipped cracks lips: a smile.

:)