Viewing Thread:
"S-SSC - Life's Songbird"

I stand here, staring deep down into my own reflection. The stark face that stares back at me looks empty, glaring through my very essence; every once in a while a rogue leaf would float to the surface and distort the depiction of me carved in the water as the songbird was nesting, starting a new life in the tree arced above the peaceful stream. As each orange flake would fall, and cause yet more deformation of my image, it reminded me just what life meant; repetition upon repetition, the only real changes touch the surface.

But this is my problem, I suppose; I get bored.

I thrive for an ever-changing life, yet routine ties me down. Some people love the comforts of a life drowned in schedule, in solace that they know what will happen and when it will. I suppose I'm just different, like everyone else.

One minute I can be so in love with a girl that I'd give my very soul to be with her, very real love, then once I'm used to her, leave my obsession to wither and rot.

Then, once it's finished, my portrait stays intact; no differences to speak of, just like Autumn’s tears, forever trying to tarnish what I see before me. But there's never any change.

I just get bored again. Like I always have.

No matter what beauty crosses my path, no matter what opportunities sneer at me, they all become the norm. Then I go onto whatever new obsession I've discovered, waiting for my mind to slowly grow welcoming of the change. My only really comfort in change is within my thoughts, inside my dreams that bring closer to the abundance that others have, that I seek. A fraternity of spirits run wild in my head, spilling imagination down through my heart and soul and whispering sweet desires to my minds eye.

But then I get bored of sleep. Some abrupt sound jolting me from my slumber.

I'm bored of this life. Onto the next.

I stand here, staring deep down into my own reflection. The stark face that stares back at me looks empty, glaring through my very essence; every once in a while a rogue leaf would float to the surface and distort the depiction of me carved in the water as the songbird was nesting, starting a new life in the tree arced above the peaceful stream. As each orange flake would fall, and cause yet more deformation of my image, it reminded me just what life meant; repetition upon repetition, the only real changes touch the surface.

But this is my problem, I suppose; I get bored.

I thrive for an ever-changing life, yet routine ties me down. Some people love the comforts of a life drowned in schedule, in solace that they know what will happen and when it will. I suppose I'm just different, like everyone else.

One minute I can be so in love with a girl that I'd give my very soul to be with her, very real love, then once I'm used to her, leave my obsession to wither and rot.

Then, once it's finished, my portrait stays intact; no differences to speak of, just like Autumn’s tears, forever trying to tarnish what I see before me. But there's never any change.

I just get bored again. Like I always have.

No matter what beauty crosses my path, no matter what opportunities sneer at me, they all become the norm. Then I go onto whatever new obsession I've discovered, waiting for my mind to slowly grow welcoming of the change. My only really comfort in change is within my thoughts, inside my dreams that bring closer to the abundance that others have, that I seek. A fraternity of spirits run wild in my head, spilling imagination down through my heart and soul and whispering sweet desires to my minds eye.

But then I get bored of sleep. Some abrupt sound jolting me from my slumber.

I'm bored of this life. Onto the next.