The façade, so solid, of my persona cracks. Is that a slight blemish? Is that a smudge?
How horrid you feel, how wretched and even worse unsurprised.
You have been rotting your brain away, aimlessly playing, aimlessly perusing things to escape, to flee.
You have been sitting in darkness, getting used to it, easing your way into the dimness, familiarizing your eyes to the shadows, acquiring a taste for silence.
And when, suddenly the spotlight shines upon the other, your friend, when he succeeds your eyes tear up.
You are not a good friend. Yes happiness for them, a fleeting thing.
But then you recall that it could be YOU. A potential version of you that did not loose hope, interest and motivation. That did not choose to live in compromise.
A version that was spotaneous.
What are your days made of? Nothing. Darkness perhaps.
And the light shines, and the friend basks in it, and radiates.
And all you can do is turn your head around, your darkness-accustomed eyes half-blinded by their glow and face the grit, the mould, the fester and the rot that line every corner of your persona.
You end up writing a post about it like a fucking teenager, then realise you are criticising teenagers and who you once were and then an elephant explodes in your ear-hole and the world is purple.
In conclusion:
Sometimes you feel like shit because others don't.
You are an egocentric apathetic person and a disgrace by own standards.
They then all went on to live a life and die.
How horrid you feel, how wretched and even worse unsurprised.
You have been rotting your brain away, aimlessly playing, aimlessly perusing things to escape, to flee.
You have been sitting in darkness, getting used to it, easing your way into the dimness, familiarizing your eyes to the shadows, acquiring a taste for silence.
And when, suddenly the spotlight shines upon the other, your friend, when he succeeds your eyes tear up.
You are not a good friend. Yes happiness for them, a fleeting thing.
But then you recall that it could be YOU. A potential version of you that did not loose hope, interest and motivation. That did not choose to live in compromise.
A version that was spotaneous.
What are your days made of? Nothing. Darkness perhaps.
And the light shines, and the friend basks in it, and radiates.
And all you can do is turn your head around, your darkness-accustomed eyes half-blinded by their glow and face the grit, the mould, the fester and the rot that line every corner of your persona.
You end up writing a post about it like a fucking teenager, then realise you are criticising teenagers and who you once were and then an elephant explodes in your ear-hole and the world is purple.
In conclusion:
Sometimes you feel like shit because others don't.
You are an egocentric apathetic person and a disgrace by own standards.
They then all went on to live a life and die.
No comments:
Post a Comment