Too Late; Too Awake.
I feel like I'm receding back into the days where my mind was a vortex.
Where I was more empty and more willing to just let go and be pessimistic, wash confidence off my face in cakey rainbow colours and look back at my own miserable face in all it's dull hues. I want to go back to living in my shell, in my fortress. It was a lot safer, and a whole ton quieter.
These are moments, deep in the night that I mull through my notes and swim through ravines of the spittle and decay that eat my mind, slowly, slowly. I am like a wandering spirit. No direction, filled with too much pride and fear to let go and accept failure. Innately, it eats me, because
I am a failure.
Demoralized, sick, tired, parched. I march the weary journey on into the battle fields of no man's land and wander deep into the world of today with it's paradoxes and nuances, hypocrisy and so, much, evil. All this while I was like a child, and maybe I finally understand that I am my own man, my own master my own puppeteer
And I am, myself.
I distance myself from the life fraught with worry desperately but it doesn't go away and my body rots with my mind into stinking, dirty useless decay and my health fails and my strength fails and I don't even want to go on anymore.
I wish I could get away from this madness.
Away from myself.
My reality.
Even if it were for a little bit, maybe I would be
Less.
Miserable
And I could just be back to my usual, cakey, happy...
I don't even know if it's myself anymore.
Happiness is surreal.
It eats me. This sadness. This exhaustion this meaningless existence and silent trepidation and every single person who tells me "You're stressing yourself out-"
Screw you.
I already know that.
So before I eat myself further into self cannibalism and just destroy myself bit by bit.
Save me.
Because the one thing I thought would is nothing but ephemeral delusions that came with a puff of smoke and the stinking smell of lost, hopeless dreams.
Where I was more empty and more willing to just let go and be pessimistic, wash confidence off my face in cakey rainbow colours and look back at my own miserable face in all it's dull hues. I want to go back to living in my shell, in my fortress. It was a lot safer, and a whole ton quieter.
These are moments, deep in the night that I mull through my notes and swim through ravines of the spittle and decay that eat my mind, slowly, slowly. I am like a wandering spirit. No direction, filled with too much pride and fear to let go and accept failure. Innately, it eats me, because
I am a failure.
Demoralized, sick, tired, parched. I march the weary journey on into the battle fields of no man's land and wander deep into the world of today with it's paradoxes and nuances, hypocrisy and so, much, evil. All this while I was like a child, and maybe I finally understand that I am my own man, my own master my own puppeteer
And I am, myself.
I distance myself from the life fraught with worry desperately but it doesn't go away and my body rots with my mind into stinking, dirty useless decay and my health fails and my strength fails and I don't even want to go on anymore.
I wish I could get away from this madness.
Away from myself.
My reality.
Even if it were for a little bit, maybe I would be
Less.
Miserable
And I could just be back to my usual, cakey, happy...
I don't even know if it's myself anymore.
Happiness is surreal.
It eats me. This sadness. This exhaustion this meaningless existence and silent trepidation and every single person who tells me "You're stressing yourself out-"
Screw you.
I already know that.
So before I eat myself further into self cannibalism and just destroy myself bit by bit.
Save me.
Because the one thing I thought would is nothing but ephemeral delusions that came with a puff of smoke and the stinking smell of lost, hopeless dreams.
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