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Do you want to know whatís going on in here? Down in desperate fear with the shattered windows falling apart from the beating wind and his whistle whine, rips ears with ebbing time. Up in the old house on the top of the hill, surrounded by trees with movements shrill. With a swinging door, hinges broken rubble covering the floor, years after defeat, surrounded by storm cloud pleats. Lightning cracking the bare ground, encased by the rusty iron fence, neglected by breezeís soft sound.

Do you want to see whatís in my head? Where I go when outside Iím dead. Where all my thoughts tend to fly, when I seem to constantly sigh? If youíre quite ok where you are, then thirst for knowledge will seem an addiction too far.

I canít stand the seriousness with which I live, the desperate imperious time that I give. The words I canít say because I canít find a way, or the thoughts I canít comprehend in words to send to a friend that I do respect in opinion, rather than their indecision. I want to express the feeling I dress, the dark solid reality that always surrounds me, in the warm starlit night, when moon moves like the hero in the sky, shrouded face quite sly. I want to just tell you that all the time you do nothing about life that will ensue, youíll be holding yourself back. Smells like midnight and cut grass, the every feeling that Iím not alone, that somehow weíve all got the same home.

So I want to talk to you my friend, that voice inside your head. That conscience that speaks to you, and monitors the things you do. That voice that tells you you are there, that time exists, somewhere. That thing that lets you know youíre you, thatís who I want to speak to.

I want to tell you that Iím here too, the same blank spot, seeing what I do, and despite the lack of elaborate rhyme, Iím still here all the time, until I die weíll co-exist, on this planet, with a twist. Weíre all the same, in our own way, but our thoughts must plan our personal say. So I just wanted to let you know that the dark house up the road, is that place where weíve all been, when weíve been left with sour dreams, spoiled hopes and dead wishes, and hoped kisses. I just wanted you to know that Iím here with you, under the same sun, under the same sky.

So next time youíre thinking late at night, and the house is battered beyond sight, and youíre all alone in your room, feeling the walls crumble and a tangible gloom, look up to that starry sky, and know somewhere I also sigh.

Remember my friend, despite all you are, all we are, the universe will tick on, long past our departure.

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The following comments are for "I want to talk to you my friend."
by Thea Veol

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