October 18, 2011



I could sum everything up.
I could say it isn't fair.
I could lie and I could manage it.
I could do a lot of aimless things in hopes of proving them allusive. Confusion is tangible with one extreme to the other.
I want to turn out the lights. I want to hide away in my closet, deceptively too big to keep me hidden. I want to push you further and further away until it's impossible to take the slightest clue and thrive on it to find you.
I try to find something to keep me here. I find it and I fight to cling to it claiming, "I can't be selfish." Sometimes the debate isn't enough. My one and only admiration, specifically, is all I have to hold on to and though I'm clutching it with every indication of sanely surviving, it's that very reverence that annihilates and proves I'm failing it. How is this even supposed to work? Am I supposed to be selfish? Do I not even think twice? That's impractical.
I contradict everything I ever do.
Where were you when I was practical?
On with your idle intentions and up with your arrested interventions.

I will abide if you want and I'll keep my austerities prolonging. I will reject your suggestions only to deny your concern. But now I need you to neglect everything I say to be undeniable and take it as my atonement.
My proclaiming plea.