so insignificant, in turn, beside starvation and massacre, and yet to embody distress with a generous side of anxiety becomes mischievous. i ponder the catalyst and i battle churning brains, devoid of control of serenity.
upon beginning to realize that little which we see is truth — upon the sensation that i exist in reveries and conjured existences, created by the mind itself; and what does that entail? with realizations that that our manifested phenomenon we call life does not surpass a simple sketch. it is accompanied with an uncanny complacency and yet the subtle screams which rattle bars enclosing us within, evoke longing and an unfortunate settling. incessantly craving the world which we seek and innately understand as home becomes unbearable, manifesting this disquieting suffering into our deemed REALITIES. FUCK. does no body FUCKING understand?
i know no body reads this. i write it for the sake of leaking conscious. but fuck. for those who know…for those who understand. i am not pretentious, i am not insane. i am simply beginning to transcend the facade which we face. no body can bear it. no body can admit it. but it’s there, and we all fucking know. we blame it on the dim lighting, we blame it on the lack of sleep, we blame it on the food we eat. BUT ARE YOU NOT UNDERSTANDING. there is so much more. so goddamn much more. and that is the essence of insanity and the most severe discontentment that i am scrambling to come to terms with.
and before i ever encountered my deemed source of inspiration i found my flesh fully saturated with vibrancies which bled in different hues and a sight behind by eyes embodying limitless landscapes amidst planets unseen.
i was never devoid, brimming with selfless love for all entities of my extremities. where does it go when facing desolation, when in fact the utilization of sadness is the most elegant and graceful.