I am not much for vociferous incantations. Must I scream in order for you to hear? The world is laudered with that in which is beautiful. Happiness. Happy tidings. And yet I regress. I become self aware, I grow wary. I do not wish to impose on those who are happy. I am sad. But I cannot bother anyone else with such silly melancholy waves. And that is when I realize… I am quite very...
i wish to go to sleep for just a little while longer for a hole that is much too deep makes the heart grow much the same, fonder
A jovial laugh. A brittle giggle. A half hearted shake. A shattered soul. Being cognizant of the unsurmountable amount of failures I have subjected my entire life to has lead to a single point in the present. A present where I cannot see my future. I am fettered to the shackles of failure. I am but a childish berk who can never do anything right. I am not burdened. But it aches. It hurts. It...
A storm is brewing.
The world is mundane and redundant, and I am a prodigious son of a bitch with ceaseless ideals and thoughts and more thoughts and more and more. And then someday these thoughts will run rampant and I will implode, implode until no longer prodigious but rather a very infectious and apathetic ninny.
I veer into a path of extrinsic abnormalities which I gaze in consternation, wondering in sheer perplexity at the peculiarities I am curtsied with. I am thus greeted by a two-forked road. One welcomes me with open arms, warm, and affable. And the other— idyllic, much too worn to be considered walkable and a fancied road to the average traveler. Shall I travel the worse-for-wear path, or the...
How often do we find ourselves entirely clearheaded? It’s quite refreshing. It’s been a while since I’ve broken free of such idle threads. But—ah. Heheh. Aloofness does have its wonders.
Love? Love is an asinine, deliberate assessment: assertive when reciprocated, puerile and daft when shirked. No, it is most definitely not diminutive in a sense that amour, in all its pious essence, remains as an essential motif for life. It’s such a silly concept. Moreso than an average berk who has no qualms with being browned off by the archetypical idiosyncrasies. Without Wax, Nisa.
I was told to tread in careful waters. It appears as if I wade through dangerous shores, instead. How very gratifying.
It is perchance, that the undeniable truth we seek is but a hand’s reach away. No longer is there a reason to doubt but rather to assume. It is almost laughable, to a certain extent where the basis of absoluteness betrays no mark of vagary. Palpable vocables serve to irrevocably truncate absurdities. But alas, what else remains? Logic. Pure logic.
Heh. I bark at the archetypical simplicity of it all. If there were a day where I need not deal with the lugubrious shite of the world I’d be a happy camper. That of course, seems like a marginal, paradigmatic wish only a simpleton could hope for. I’ve been well acquainted with the practicality of it all—it is, nevertheless, impossible to step away from being mordantly bitter. ...
I am like an outdated porcelain doll—a treasury surely not meant for this time period. My mind works like archaic rust, not the contemporary, modern period. Was I meant for a greater purpose, to think like a scholar and yet to live a life au courant? Little pondering thoughts—idle thoughts. How do your work?
Even those with the pleasures of inclusion falter at the thought of alienation… A sudden withdrawal from heartache which serves to regress their very souls, a malignant growth that marks fright. Such fright should be thought as selfish, one would say. Selfish because he or she has peers who adoure them with typical mirth and jovial laughter. But ah, they forget that these individuals, too, are...
Funny how life works, though. You are there to aid others and yet they are never there to return the favour.
The morbidity of having to conform to inarticulate means of communication can really… really, take a toll on an individual. To keep a facade up for so long creates a sense of vulnerability internally.