Conversations

Iv been existing alone for a bit to long i think , i have now forgotten the art of communication , the pleasure in a conversation,seems to have dwindelled, died a neverending death. Perceeded by an acute sense of anxiety received in a calm existence. The Calm however is an event in itself , a moment in time which froze but now has passed , all that exists now is a feeling of loss of grief.

Unknown , unheard i have existed surrounded yet so alone, it seems like an eternity now, yet its been just days. The same conversations with the same people. The anatomy of guilt , the depths of sorrow, the screams of abuse , i hear them i recognise them and then we laugh it off. To move on to the next day a repition of the same once again. I miss the days of joy , i miss them .

An intelligent conversation, an argument with a meaning behind it , where have they gone. All that is left behind is skeletons, or rather wannabe conversations which never quite reach where they are meant to go, the faulicy most probably lies within me but i miss that juicy morsel of intellect, that i chewd on once. Now all i chew on id dried grass and that to a carnivore my friend is death itself.

The conversations somehow seem to have just flown out of my life, i mean maybe there were complete nonsensicle moments in life but then they too are not around,. In a city of dullards i turn dull, moronic scared and they seem so receptive of it.

Gradually i see a detoriation, in spirits in the self in everything and all we can talk about by the end of it is buiseness, about broken relationships , bout how we are growing old , man where is it all .

i doubt its just conversations , but rather its the spirit of living which is dying itself . So i shut myself from these conversations, from these meaningless morsels of nothingness. Well actually iv shut myself from them a long time ago , i think i need to move o to a different place or rather a different level, but theres a feeling of helplessness which creeps in,. Lethargy or rather inertia of chhange of living a different like. i lived and then existed and now the transition back to living seems to be so difficult.

What was it that we use to talk about , to tell you the truth i cant even remember that , what made those conversations worthwile, what put life into them i dont remember. Its like amnesia , its scary when you know your loosing something but wat exactly you cant remember , you know its important to you but yet you cant put your hand on what it ois and all you can generalise it to is conversations.