contemplation on time

how do i begin writing about you if i don't know how to write anymore? is it not easier to just forget even if they existed. if i tried to remember, i'd only remember very vaguely.  if i did begin to write, it wouldn't be very good writing. so what am I attempting to do spinning these words and playing you should i really look for muses and inspiration? what art is going come out of this unloving?

Today the lights when out and I wasn't scared. I waited and waited but the lights didn't come back on. Its fortunate that I'll leave tomorrow or else how long would I have to be here adjusting myself to this misty blackness. Its so ironic; it's this darkness that I claim to love, that I feel like I'm a part of. Its been four hours and right now, its becoming hard for me to move without knocking something over, without being afraid of stepping on something, without being uncertain of which way to go. My eyes have adjusted but I'm still not sure. I was lying about the darkness. I wish the lights would come back on, I wish I could see things the way I did before, I wish I wasn't so uncertain, I wish I didn't cause such a mess every time I moved. It's simple, I just want the lights to come back on.  I've been thinking as I sat here rather bored without much to do about a lot of things; about the times when I got up on the stage unawa

Daddy threw me lightly like a flower, but I didn't float.  I let the water invade. I let it seep through my nose, into my ears, fill my mouth and drown my brain.  So effortlessly, all my thoughts were wet with the dripping conscience of guilt.  Maybe a little pain.  Pain, a wrinkled flower shouldn't feel. I'll remember Daddy's words, every one of them because I dont let myself forget, because I don't sieve, I absorb and slowly I was gaining weight. Perhaps dangerously.  The fear he always talked about was what consumed me.  Daddy will never know. You are wrinkled, failing and invisible.