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They say beauty is wasted on the insane and deranged. Not a day goes by without the wish, that it was all a lie.
Self control is given no quarter and here comes another mood swing, once again, my emotions control me. Once again, rage is king and depression reigns supreme.
The depths of empathy and failure have succumbed to my misery and with the desperate throbs of passion I have chosen this ultimate path, in which I find the answers to deny the future of all my sanity. None of this makes sense and with knowing that sad, sick, statistic I have overruled my boundaries. One second I find myself immensely and utterly madly happy... The the next I am drunken off my own sadness and morbidness, with tears and cries and screams of doubt rushing through my empty soul and lost for words on how I feel. No one even begins to understand what exactly I feel, it all makes perfect sense in my fucked up ill mind. But the truth is... It doesn't... It never does... And it never will.
I swept the ocean floor with the soles of my feet. I breathed in the pollen from a thousand blooming poppies. I slept among the tall grasses of an open meadow. I held a bright full moon the the palm of my hands. I smiled and for once didn't regret for a second what I've become.
I walked wearily in a dark, damp cave. I swam in the murky waters of a bubbling swamp. I tiptoed on a tight rope strung across a valley of jagged rocks. I listened to the moaning of the humid summer wind. I exhaled heavily and questioned intently what I've become.
