Could I not think? Could I stop this flow that defines my existence and my ego, this world that decides my moves and words, defining an objective, a purpose? An unfair though went through my head today: I am walking to despair, in every speech that I make. That which created my ego is crumbling in it's sleep and leaving room for the ignorance to reign, blind and without any signs of future bliss. Even though I'm searching everyday for new patterns and thoughts in stranger head's, I feel myself falling away to the darkness of the common men, also known as my own personal Hell.
As the strings of time pass me and everyone by, I feel more and more as if I should be bigger and better than I am now, a more decent person with a more complex thought and closer to the mistake of perfection. But every night I lay awake in my bed, dreaming of worlds that don't exist, creating situations that require the genius to shorten his lifespan for no greater good. Indeed, frustrating, imagining, never thought it to be a burden, daydreaming and dreaming the day away, whistle failing in surviving with the ego intact at what I do best and moving towards a better existence.
I have nothing better to say than to remind myself how I'm disappointed so early in this new Celtic year...
As the strings of time pass me and everyone by, I feel more and more as if I should be bigger and better than I am now, a more decent person with a more complex thought and closer to the mistake of perfection. But every night I lay awake in my bed, dreaming of worlds that don't exist, creating situations that require the genius to shorten his lifespan for no greater good. Indeed, frustrating, imagining, never thought it to be a burden, daydreaming and dreaming the day away, whistle failing in surviving with the ego intact at what I do best and moving towards a better existence.
I have nothing better to say than to remind myself how I'm disappointed so early in this new Celtic year...
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