in yesterday's world i died and woke up this morning.
everything progresses, uninterrupted
and forevermore. life doesn’t seem to break out from the
television-esque framework
until you find that “time-stopper” and soulful embrace of
happiness. holding on—just breathing in, and
out—to the peace feels more than satisfying; but then, of
course, self-pity seeps through the pores.
i've tried to cleanse the cracks and lie back; somehow,
though, stress manages to chain
itself to my wrist. burdened in a sea of similarity, it
pains me that i cannot openly express
these feelings to another. for one, claiming that i have
such problems leads some [of those persons
left over in the pool of people who show a potential interest]
to instinctively argue that they:
have it worse; know what I’m talking about; and (continuing
in this line of psychological
order) --because it's insignificant to them--that [my
'problems'] are no big deal.
now seems an ideal time to clarify that i have no
expectations of the reader to follow this
thought but to even actually understand it, because if that
were possible for them (you?,
someone,...) then my whole stream would relate to the sole
topic i've been passionately
condemning for being so...
and for another, how the minority of those remaining take it
upon themselves to act like they care, implore themselves as
help, then completely give up
when i proclaim my 'fine'-state-of-mind; thus assuming that
i either: am fine (you missed my
serious sarcasm) or that am lying and just wish no help. one
such thing i desire is that someone won't
choose one of many options and, rather, pursue a mysterious,
unidentified possibility and seize the
opportunity to care about something unselfish. anyway, maybe
my problems are just so.
they could just be an
over-exaggeration of nothing more than a commonality that i construe as an
unfathomable wrong so that i too may suffer internally and
have an explanation to this perpetual
dissatisfaction.
