slippin'

i have these brown eyes that stare into me. they are beautiful. and still innocent. they are pained. and relative. i know that pain. the uncertainty of caring too much or not enough. the stalker stroll. we all do it: myspace glance. than glance over again. then picture scroll. then sadness. the friends, the phone calls, the emails, the surprise connections. how could you change somebody's life when you're still trying to save your own...? artist depression has been a suprising bath of ice. i've never understood what it meant to be affected. how it felt to be moved to tears upon mention of your father. the man that knows a prison cell better than he'll ever know you. maybe that is why myspace is so easily addictive? there are people i've met thru myspace comments and pics that make me feel just as displaced as a hug to someone, that told someone they hate you. like high school wasn't enough. and its probably just as dysfunctional as you playing the game - because fighting the tides only makes it easier for the real sharks to feed off you. the jellyfish are just a distraction. so you hold it in. call it playing dirty, fair or just playing. three decades of a game that no one ever wins has always tired your breathing. left you unable to recognize yourself, unless you have myspace. this is where you will have remnants of when you were once cute and popular and seemingly without that pain. that sits on your face like a smile.