III.

Misery. Sitting in a chair rotting my potential away... I can barely even write this without feeling an ocean of disgust and limited talent. My disposition is soul sucking, If you don’t wish for my sanguine energy to sap you of joy throughout space and time stop reading. I don’t feel hopelessly alone. I feel like a failure, I can barely write my truth without wanting to shelve it. Who will truly care when it’s all done? The energy within me will continue ceaselessly, long after I am gone. I don’t know if I am pissed or relieved. How Can such a state exist where I feel lethargic and apt to pursue something with ardour. Splendor doesn't come easily when I am locked and looking for a purpose. I will be pissed if they start praising my art after I have passed. What was this life of creativity, this life of suffering for? I am tired, I need help, I need a manager. I can’t do this all by myself anymore. It's been six years, not ten. But six of dedication, I don’t do it for you. I do it for me and the hope one day I can feed my family. This world is cruel even weak children must starve. Because they’re the parents' responsibility I suppose… That’s bullshit because children are the universes, not possessed by a caregiver that cannot function or raise a child with basic necessities.

I am worn out. I am tired of making poor financial decisions that keep me feeling like I am struggling for crumbs still. Used to having one meal a day, I’m up to three but my hunger still persists. There is no satiating an addict. I always want more, want to do more, see more, achieve more. I grasp for a present that rests in having and having not. But the competitive edge these people receive and their reduced ethics and intelligence as a result are revolting. I see eyes meet mine and I look away, I am excellent at hiding shame. Not to my partner, not to my friends, and family. But to my colleagues, to the world, my exterior is golden. Leo in the Sun, hiding in my Cancer moon. With a Gemini for my secret life. I want to be monogamous and get lost in a threesome. How much of a polarity switch is that? If I have to hear my mom mention her fear of me being bipolar one more time I will lose my switch. I’m too rational, not maniac enough to do anything rash I would regret. I am impulsive but I have learned to calculate my impulses before I act on them, too many mistakes shine with poor impulses. 

These feel journalistic sometimes but its truly a narrative that I am pushing. A story, much like a motif. I’ve got no real platform, perhaps a website is in order. I believe so.