On 4:44 Jay-Z rapped ‘if everybody’s crazy, you’re the one that’s insane’ he wasn’t wrong.
I’m looking around, at everyone, at myself, I’m looking too deep for my own good and being unsettled by what I see: cheating, degradation, self-harm, self-loathing. That’s just scratching away at the cracked porcelain surface.
The world’s insane and I’m no exception to the insanity. I remain a wounded voyeur to the insanity I bare witness to.
The days are growing old, time is melting away into the dark recesses of the future, and all bets are off. These are moments of importance.
In a different world, I’d say for every massacre there’s a moment of beauty, a moment of peace.
There isn’t. You know that, and I know that, the good parts, don’t exist. It’s just pain now.
Complacency kills, the memo never said that. it was reading in between the lines that left a stab wound in my stomach.
I looked deep into too many eyes and i saw only dying black holes.
Echoed souls of yesteryears past, become the idealised present.
The Wallflowers One Headlight is still fresh in my memory from 3 years ago, the memories are still embalmed upon my soul
The clothes are different; the looks ex-lovers give me, are nonexistent, and the same applies to my glances, empty nothingness. Importance long since dead.
Through the bleeding entrails of existence, I found semblance in normality, the self hate translated into the self-harm of the self stopped, beautiful girls my company for too many nights.
Some things ruined my life and something fixed my life. Leading to horrors, and reminders that humanity isn’t all that good. yet it handed me Emily, in all her beauty. Now life seems different, death still close at hand, but with a little more brightness. The slipping continued, i hold on stronger and stronger, but goddamn it’s hard. There’s no answer, no rhyme or reason just pain and hurting.
Selfishness and hubris breeds humanity, thus it’s only naturally those values are instilled into us.
It’s a horrific notion, but it makes painful sense.
in the grand scheme of things that’s all there is really; painful things that are even more painful to make sense of.
I’m still tearing my way out of the paper bag, and it’s not getting any easier, and I’m plagued by doubts.
Kudos to everyone else around.
It’s the element of surprise that creates a woeful sense of existential dread, gnawing away at me.