here i am again, a shadow of my former self; haunting the place that contains the pain i’m trying to run away from.
i’m living a life which is not my own anymore. i’ve confused the two realities; my own and the one that was written by someone who shares nothing of mine. nothing but his individual dreams that match mine.

i was disappointed. i felt abused. the ending itself is never what it was accrued in people’s fantasy to be.
it never could be. it’s destined to disappoint the best of us, the dreamers.

i have nothing to say.

i fear nothing but fear itself.
if life has no opposite, how come i feel like i haven’t been living?
i’m waiting to be inspired but it’s the little things that rub me the wrong way.
i loathe the change demonstrated in others.
people fall back into the roles they were prescribed to play.

why am i so afraid?
because i keep on failing. i’m so disappointed.
the only thing that would convince me to go on further is some sort of indication,
a slight reward to push me on.
i never receive that and go one wondering what’s wrong with me.

ends are so anticlimactic
i feel nothing.



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