Sometimes, Things are Okay the Way They Are

The past bit has been rough. Fighting through intense pulses of depression, a sharp up turn and then another drop. I've come to terms with myself; I've learned a lot about myself. Through criticism of my acting, to the realization that I am saturated by many hobbies, interests, and skills. To focus on only one, feels like I'm selling myself short. To focus on them all, there isn't enough time in the day.

But that is alright. I've stabilized the last few hours. Nothing lasts forever; life will happen, regardless of if you are along for the ride or not. Change happens.

Feelings might change. Nothing is really the way you think it is. You might now how things are in a moment, but why they are that way, is another level of understanding that can not truly be grasped. And that is okay.

My hope is, things get better, rather than worse. My hope for myself, is for me to see, and remember, that things can be okay, and I don't have to be the driving force at every step. If I want to be, I can be, but it is not a requirement of life or living.

A Little Something You Should Know

In our modern society of complete interconnectedness, we all have places where we hide the darker, the "unacceptable" feelings inherit in all of us. Some people openly complain on Facebook, bitch about things on twitter, write a blog and link it around.

But I, have this blog. I sometimes link it around, but very rarely. Most people don't know it exists. I write here to get things out of my system.

I don't want to share anything Facebook because, most people, don't care. We have become increasingly anti-feeling on the internet, as well as real life. You feel depressed? Dissatisfied with life? People don't want to hear about it on their news feed. Life is only happy, and if you aren't happy, you should probably be on medication.
Fuck that.

I hide things here. But it is not hidden. It exists. It is out there. Just lost in the shuffle. I vent here, my darker feelings, my unacceptable face in a world that only wishes to see a meaningless smile, if you can't pull a real one.

You are alone if you try to share feelings with strangers with the facade. And if you don't share anything because you assume that no one really gives a fuck, your friends will turn into strangers too.

Here I lie, victim of my own perception of the world.

I'm to the point I feel nothing really matters. And so, I'll probably mess with everyone's head. Honesty will flow forth, and people shall not know what to make of it. And maybe, just maybe, I'll feel better.

Broadcast to Isolation

Amongst my friends, I feel like a stranger. Combinations and misalignment, and I'm out of place again. Emotional torment. Confidence, gone, but a smiling face hides the tears, the anger, the confusion, and everything else.

Perhaps I am just re-broadcasting the signals I pick up. My own fears embodied in others, my own paranoia, projected. I catch myself doing what I hate happening to me. Predictions, expectations, manipulations. Pulling my own strings pulling others strings, suspicious and paranoid.

I really need to avoid certain combinations of people I think...
Or, the age old solution, I need more sleep.

More sleep, when I have to deal with people.

Have a doctor on call, I talk to who asks me and does a spot analysis, to determine my suitability for social situations.

I find myself playing games I really should not play with people I shouldn't be playing them with. I should have abandoned them... But I did not. Not because I'm a good person. Because I'm a fool and believe in second chances.
But really, it is not really about that. Perhaps I need to move on. The scars need to heal. Hell, they need to form, and that can't happen if I'm constantly itching the wound, ripping it open once again for a fleeting, pointless, and probably more harmful than anything.

Maybe I just don't want to admit to myself, for certain, that I will be single forever. It isn't about social norms or expectations. It's about the increasing occurrence of the feeling no one really gets me. Combined with sexual frustration. Trying to suppress it doesn't go so well, I just get angry. Or depressed.

Damn these emotional scars. I'm so scared of getting hurt, the isolation doesn't scare me.
Stop me when this sounds familiar.
And I know people are interested in me. But I just don't feel the same way. Pursing such things would be unfair to them, and myself.

Blah, blah, blah.

Like the last domino, it is only a matter of time before you fall.

Recent Depression 8-24-12

Lately, I've just felt depressed. I don't feel I can really trust anyone. I know I should be able to trust more, but, recent behaviors, have caused me to become very reserved. I've withdrawn. Though, it isn't entirely my fault. A new job has basically killed what little of a social life I had.

But then this film I want so desperately to be a part of, but I don't think I'll be able to do it. I've got enough going on currently. Between school and work, I basically have no time to relax.

I've flipped out quite a few times today. Just random bursts of rage. Waking up late, no time for much of anything; food didn't happen. Late to class anyway, hitting most lights red on the way there. Getting there, and realizing I don't know where the class is. Walking in late. Not having missed much but enough to feel foreign. Nervous the entire class, getting sucked into stupid things because I was shy and didn't want to say anything...

Then hitting just about every light on the way back home red. At least until I got to the highway.
 And then of course having 2 and a half hours to kill. Needing to get things done, but knowing, 2 hours isn't enough.

Work was ok. Probably the smoothest part of the day. Getting home, and, nothing going on.
Sometimes I feel like a waste of space. I'm wasting time, and for what? Nothing... Nothing at all.
Suicide has been a thought I keep pushing away, but it keeps creeping back up on me. I can't talk about it with my family. They wouldn't understand, and would likely suggest medication.

I can't vent on facebook. Because, I feel no one cares. And anyone who "cares" is going to leave a stupid fucking comment rather than, actually talking with me. And even then, why should I have to post on facebook for people to notice something? Oh, I'm sorry, I normally vanish for an entire fucking week without saying much, replying to the odd text message hours after I get it because I'm determined to convince people nothing is wrong.

So much is wrong. I can't stand some of my friends lately. I find their behavior unacceptable, and I say nothing. Because I know why they do it. Insecurity. And they are so tightly wrapped in their insecurity, by saying anything it will wrap tighter. Why would I pay someone a pity compliment? That solves nothing; it just wraps it tighter. I'm afraid to be honest. I've found most people can't take honesty.

I'm tired of feeling alone. Sexually frustrated, with zero prospects. Or perhaps a few, but no confidence to pursue them. I'm a wreck. The fact I keep going amazes me. I so want to quit though. I'm tired. I can't keep this shit up forever. And the more I think about it, the more "forever" it all seems... I try to distract myself from this fact, but my mind wanders back. The longest I've gone today without feeling like a total failure, is when I was playing Saints Row 3. Money, cars, guns, women, wacky reality. Everything I want in real life.

I stop playing, and I fall back into this. More distractions. If I face off with this, I'm likely to break, and the people who want to catch my pieces, are people I'd rather not let piece me back together.

I feel like a stranger. I feel like I'm fading into memory. Falling away, and out of sight. I feel people would be happier if I'd stop bothering them.

Pathetic

I suppose jealousy is normal. But I don't get it. I don't I ever have. I don't get, why it drives people to do the stupid, fucked up, annoying things they do. But god, does it bug me.

I hate it when people fish for compliments. I hate it when people bait compliments. "I've got all the charm of a starfish. I don't have any friends." - that isn't going to get me to say what you want me to say. In fact, i'll say nothing. Who am I to fuck with your self image?
I refuse to give pity compliments. Like pity sex, it won't fix anything. I really want to be harsh and mean when it gets down to it.

I also hate it when people tell me about how awesome they are. Generally, this is done by one-upping. Any story, any cool thing you did, it isn't as cool as whatever cool thing they did or can do. It derails conversaton and directs the conversation back at the person who is, generally, insecure.

And thus, our title: Pathetic.

I'm so tired of it. I can't, take it. I'm done. I won't feed your starving self esteem. I can't feed your starving self-esteem. 

Depressed?

Lately I've felt something strange. I'm tired constantly it seems. After the great highs of being told you are disease free, and quitting a job you had never really liked, perhaps the grinding realization that, I'm still not free from the things that bound me.

Money. Always about money. I've been wanting to write more. I bought a little tablet in hopes having something small and portable will encourage me to write without having to break my back. But i find myself missing my laptop. So I look into a new battery, since the current battery won't hold a charge for longer than 15 minutes. Trusted manufacture: $70 - Discounted battery: $50 - Cheap battery that may or may not work and you won't know until you waste money on it - $30.

So I'm thinking of going to a battery place locally, to see what they would recommend, and also another place to see how much replacing the bad-cells would cost....

Money money fucking money... The thing to free ourselves from our dependance, but also the very tool to enslave.

Speaking of more money, I want to create some art and possibly sell it. Need to buy supplies. Yay more money. I want to do wacky things that would make life beautiful. Money...

I'm tired of money. I really wish I could live without money. I wish I could just hang out with all my friends. Problem being, some of my choices, most of them, live far enough away I almost need to calculate gas mileage.

I guess depression is easy enough.

So lets summarize:

I want to write, but where I am I feel less than inspired. Traveling costs money. Being around friends seems to cost money.

Fuck money.

Fragility

Nerves, on edge. A sudden jolt, and away I go, to break in the dark.
A severe physical jolt could risk it, but the real risk hides in my emotional flux. Do I give a flux or not? Does something hurt or does it bounce? Is all I perceive just a suspicion? The shadow, of doubt?

Between a job I'm not sure I want, a major I'm not sure I'm good enough for, a potential loss of freedom, desiring to pursue things I've only imagined, hints of secret intentions and feelings, vital information withheld, and avoiding a painfully one way love triangle...

Actually, it makes sense. Everything is changing. I would say, is about to change, but I'm behind the times. Is this the time I break and shatter? Will I rise from the ashes?

Perhaps it is a good thing. The flames are daunting. Inviting. Dreams. The power to change everything.

I Am, Regretably, Not a Robot.

Emotions. Too many to handle, and caught in the crossfire. Balance and chaos, in my own, and all around me. Glimpses of tantalizing fantasizes manifested to flesh, so alive and powerful, suppressed under fear and exhaustion.

Just another day I don't have the energy to change myself. Another day I retreat, folded in upon myself, surrounded by my own frustrations and fears, steeped in them; stewing in them.

Planning, dreaming, hoping, for a better tomorrow. Dreaming far beyond myself; for the benefit of humans everywhere. Just a dream, shattered by the words, actions, ideas, and practices of society. The blind eyes, the screams ignored, the justifications for wrong. Just another frightening day in our stained, sparkingly utopia.

The sickness infests my heart. How can I change myself, when I can't even change the world?
I should believe that I can change myself in order to change the world. But how can I change myself when the world can't seem to be changed.

How can I change the world when I can't seem to speak at the right time, or loud enough? How about when no one really hears what I'm trying to say. My simplest statements, misinterpreted. Why bother explaining? Belittled and attacked over the mundane. Assumptions made quickly. Why bother explaining?

Why bother explaining? Why bother pursuing it? Should I ask for forgiveness when I see no wrong in what I've done? Should I ask for forgiveness for misinterpretations? No. No reason. Perhaps I should explain, but what gaurantee do I have my words would have an attentive and interested audience? A life time of being shy, and a life time more, it would seem.

Exhaustion. Depression. Reverting back to trying to be a robot. Why? Because it is all too much to handle.No words convey adequately what I feel. No name for it, and the roots go deep.

Maybe I should not sleep until I go absolutely insane.  Or sleeping for all of an eternity.

Sometimes all I want, all I need, is a fresh start. Or a mostly fresh start. Something new, to not twist and tangle. Something to keep wondrous, passionate, and beautiful.

To lay my head down, is the closest I'll probably get to peace. For now at least. To lay my head down, is the closest I'll get to my dreams, pressed against the edges.

To lay my head down, to sleep.

Observer or Participant?

I watch silently, I try to pick up on all the nuances. I try to immerse myself in the thoughts and emotions of other people on occasion, but I'm not that brave very often.

Am I cause, or effect? Am I a result or am I just the question? Am I a journey, or a destination? The air or the wind? The tide or the water? An idea or just a thought? The source of light or just the lack of darkness?

What is the right thing to do? Truly, it seems it is not up to me. For I am just the observer...

As much as I want to pretend my presence has not impact, I am just lying to myself. But the true magnitude of my piece in the playing puzzle, is unanswerable.

It might just be up to me after all.

Burn Again

Phosphorus, or flint. Lighter Fluid, gasoline, alcohol; I don't care which.

I never knew how easy it would be to set it all on fire. I guess I packed it all with kindling. Grinding the lumber to saw dust, gives it that extra little explosion. Soaked in accelerant. It only took one spark to blow it all to hell.

Left to pick up the pieces again.

Alive again. The smoke; the chemicals. My head pounds with the heady fumes. Sickness; this was too easy. It burns to much to be a dream.

All my feelings burned away. The memory still hurts though. Blinded. Reeling.

I fall dead. I wither and crisp.

I rise; Pheonix. Another level transcendent. Another lesson to learn, until, I burn again.

Ignis Solus.

Watching God Go Mad

Insane. Not quite adequate to describe what is happening, but it is the best word.

What is the best word when the world seethes and pulses with a madness so great, it feels like god has gone crazy and decided, you know what, fuck this place. It needs redecorating. People are faster to direct and change than mountains. A rubix cube to play with, and not a vast painting. Pick it up, twist turn see how much more colorful and confusing it is now and give up again.

Then the rubix cube walks away and starts thinking it is some great golf ball in some weird pinball machine. Silly cube. They never contemplated much what a post-human existence would be like for them. Hell, I doubt they think about what makes them human to begin with.

Human rubix cubes. I don't even want to think about the subliminal symbolism slithering in that simile. Or was it metaphor? Does it really matter if it is still symbolic, no matter what itchy word you assign to describe it?

Of course, god is debatable at the best of times. Maybe it isn't a god going mad, but more us going mad. Rebels without causes, shock value in spirituality as fashion. Nihilistic self doubt, yet still a yearning for meaning and a clear definition of right and wrong, reduced to a wobbly gelatine they try to sell you and tell you its the body of Christ. I'm no cannibal, but...

Actually that is a hell of an idea. Jello shot Jesus blood. With little crumbs of bread in them, so you can get all your god redeeming soul cleansing symbolic cannibalism done in one! Jesus Jello Shots! God loves a drunk!

Or does he? Supposedly, but since god has gone mad, I'm not sure we feel up to asking that question. Maybe his dad was an alcoholic. Maybe his mother was a good woman trying to make ends meet, yet still managed to be in denial about, reality in general.
All the kids at school made fun of him because they heard the stories. Not really stories. Their parents said something about a fruit roll-up blowjob.

So god went and created a god damned universe just to go mad, and destroy it to teach them a lesson. That isn't very nice at all. Very self centered, wouldn't you say?

God is mad therefore man is mad and thus...

The implications are vast.

Pain pt. 1

Have you ever had someone fear you? Not because you were necessarily a scary person, but just because you reminded them of someone they knew, or thought they knew? Was it because you had similar tastes, or was it the fact you are, no matter how hard you try to fool yourself, only human? Did it ever make you angry when they tried to change you, help you with your problems, when they couldn't even admit they ever had any problems in the first place?

Have you ever lost what you thought was everything, only to find to your horror, that you were still breathing? And then found out you still had something left. Not much, but something. Then, did you find that something betrayed you; vanished, faded, and broke? And yet, you still keep on breathing.

Have you ever found out the truth of a situation, and found that you were screwed no matter what you did? You'd be cast as a villain in eyes, of people who cared about you, no matter, what, you did? Did you find that a decision would be made with or without you, and the blame would still fall upon you? Did you find that doing nothing, was the best thing to do?

Have you ever been vilified for being honest? Were you honest because you thought you were helping? Did you feel guilty for not saying anything about anything sooner? Were you afraid that everything you ever felt for a certain person was gone, and that part of you might have been using them? Ever been vilified for being too nice, when you were so scared it was all lost?
Have you ever been afraid to let go of someone, because you thought they would disappear all together? What if you were afraid that you would forget everything? How about being isolated and alone even more that you were before...

Have you ever felt undervalued? By people who have self esteem issues, and can only seem to let go of themselves enough when the get drunk? How about finding out they want to use your friendship to take from people who have more than they do? What if you do not want to be used for profit?

Have you ever discovered the truth again? Finding that, after all this time, you are still the villain, you are still at fault, you are still the social retard that needs directions on what to do? Have you ever recognized how insecure everyone around you is? Have you ever recognized how people cope with their insecurity? One-up, when i was young, my daddy could throw your daddy over the moon, when in France, at my distant cousins mountain mansion, what a lovely day for a wedding, which is definitely better than staying in America, as a matter of fact, the physics behind it is quite simple and useful, congress is staffed by retards, North Korea are highly intelligent but unguided, you want to use a high speed flash and a color gel, now I've just got to sign up for classes, that reminds me of a story when I was in the Marines, just stop me from killing someone I love.

Have you ever had 2 trusts broken with one stone? Did you pretend nothing changed, while letting everything that could have been so beautiful, wither and rot? Are you still glad you did it after so much isolation?

Have you ever tried to shine so brightly, only to find the blind only have eyes for the train-wreck?

Have you ever slipped your mind long enough for someone to get close, use you, and slip away?

Have you ever listened to someone say one thing, and then watched them do something else? How many times have you watched this happen? How many time have they fallen, and how many times do they just do it again? How long until they realize, for the longest time, you have been there for them?
Have you ever suffered in silence, because it was the right thing to do?

Have you ever, had to stop, and let yourself recover from the rusty scars the world has left upon your heart? Are you too busy keeping the wounds fresh, to clean them so they can heal, at long last?

End Part 1...

They Call It, We Sing it.

We writhe, constantly, struggling for a comforting angle and an explosive release, which eludes our constant dance; our spasms are in vain, a hopelessly decadent self-deception, filled with our greatest desires and most significant fears.
Alas, we spin. We spin our own way, we crash and collide and bounce away. Nothing ever really stays the same. Our careless half heart pursuits managing, some how, to expand into a potentially serious situation for which we have not prepared, in anticipation for not really giving a flying fuck about the outcome in the first place, for being indifferent to the outcome. Not needing an outcome but applying by halves, then becoming alarmed when the pace steps up and unseen machinery chugs along.
Fate and choice intertwine. Some call it Karma, I call it the explicit inescapable reality. I am where I am because of my choices, but I could have made different choices. It is impossible to truly comprehend "what if" because each decision echos for an eternity, and after its done, you can not have done it any other way. Mistake or not, it's already been done, and only you could have done it the way you did it. Live with the regret or learn a lesson and improve.
Or let fate drive the car, just done be surprised when you find yourself on an island built with bad decisions, or in a ditch of existental crisis. Hell, it can be an existential crisis anywhere at any time. Don't ask the question if you really think you don't care about the answer. But don't fool yourself into thinking we can train the responses, be conditioned and altered to perfection.

Dr. Pill and his sexually deviant mistresses all agree, that the drug for you, is LSD.

Billboards preaching the end of civilization while civilization is distracted with glowing rectangles. All hail the all mighty rectangle.
Our Rectangle, who art from heaven, hallow be thy apps, thy browsing be done, An thy entertainment be done in church, as it is on the train. Give us this day, our daily distraction, And forgive us our firmware delinquency, as we forgive those who envy thee glowy rectangle. And lead us not into arguments with fanboys, but deliever us from arguments, for thine network connection is harder faster better stronger. Work It Harder Make It Better, Do It Faster, Makes Us stronger, More Than Ever Hour After, Our Work Is Never Over.

Drop the bass motherfucker. IF you don't... hell, I don't even want to think about what happens if you don't. That is a nightmare I am not willing to embrace as of yet. So feed me sexy imagery and sick beats, feed me your delusions and fantasies.

And now I think I'm done. For now. Never really done but the words just kind of trip over themselves. remember when i turned the lords prayer into a daft punk song? that was cool right?

Fatal Questions

Does it matter?

What a fatal question. Yet, it haunts me constantly.

Why do I bother?

Every time I feel all my efforts mean nothing. Every time it gets harder and harder to accomplish anything with this doubt constantly nagging in the back of my mind.

Everyday has turned into a struggle to accomplish anything, between "Does it matter?" and "Why do I bother?"
I guess I'm not as ok as I would like to be. In some way it's a relief not to have to pretend to be alright all the time.
But it's still a matter of coping with everyday, one day at a time...

12mg of love...

There are many types of love, and as such, just as many perspectives, and ideas concerning the subject.
What this post will be about, is an emotion that is temporary insanity; sensual overload and lust mixed into a heady mixture; A chemical fixation upon another person; Romance. We will call it love.

Love is an absolutely fascinating concept. Making another human willing to do nearly anything for another person, putting their needs before your own. In many ways, it undermines basic survival. Departing with resources to win over affection.

Love is certainly addictive, considering how extended periods without "romantic" contact, tend to make people more fragile, more vulnerable to disease. Yet, love is just as dangerous. Exposing yourself to heartbreak, stress, disappointment, if the love is not returned, and potentially more diseases, depending upon how polyamorous or promiscuous the person you experience these intense emotions for, happens to be.

Honesty is for people who are boring, and in lasting relationships, not people who are hopelessly tangled up in the vine of love. Fools to their ever changing bio-chemistry, the super-freak reactions that complicate and simplify their essence, to be entwined and tied into hopeless knots... A beautiful, and devastating dance, Pushing, pulling, clinging to be torn away and then driven back together.

Appealing, is it not?

My mind knows the dangers, and yet I still crave love, like a junkie. And that is what scares me. Getting over love, is exactly like getting over the addiction; Months without any romantic contact, but one more fix and I know I'll be a fucking wreck all over again. Another junkie, who cares only for the next fix. Admittedly, that is one thing I've always envy about junkies: simplicity in their priorities.

However, for those without love, it is not entirely without its fun. Poking, prodding, picking at all the things stated, and believed, making someone question love, making someone explain why they love someone...now that will drive someone crazy.

As for a statement about what love actually is, I leave that up to you. Make your own damn conclusion. Or are you in love with my mind and craving another micro-gram of wisdom, of snarky wit, of caustic honesty? Or another eruption of volatile and unstable emotion? Of rage, frustration, sadness, and bitterness?

Make up your own damn mind.

The Razor Spikes of Self-Doubt.

It's best not to question whether what you are doing is worth it, especially when you wonder if other people care about it.
But it is perhaps the driving question, the annoying kid in the back seat that asks, "are we there yet?" When the journey has just begun. That bit of self doubt that is the drop of poison in the wine.
So, do other people care what you do?
Short answer; no.
The long answer: They don't care what you do until you have done it. Even then most people are so wrapped up in their own affairs to care. Sometimes, depending on your relation to the person, they are so wrapped up in if you care or not to notice what you do. At least, that is the way it seems to go.
So no, people don't care right now. But that begs another question: WILL they care once it is done? There is no simple answer, because that is the nature of people; rogue variables in an evolving equation. The equation doesn't mean anything, until it is calculated in the moment and the result is apparent.
Such thoughts and worries, if left to their own wills, their own ideas, will prevent the greatest art, stop the most important journeys, and crush the most beautiful souls into dust. And no one will care about the loss of great art, or great knowledge, if they care at all. They will only care the price they have to pay.
At least, that is my assumption, based on a few scattered unscientific observations.
Alas, it is time to return you to your volatile dreaming world. Remember this: Be amazing, when the world tells you it doesn't matter. Be big, when the world thinks you are small. Be unpredictable, when a trap is laid for you. Most important of all: Imagine.

Mind Vomit I

Shoot me at the moon. If I don't get there, I'll just fall back to earth.
A view so high my perspective means nothing. The earth, just a beautiful backdrop for my peaceful decent.
Born again, falling anew, awake and alert for the first time in forever. Surely, it will not be the last. The Cycle of life compressed into a few passing moments.
The Earth, growing larger. Calling me back to it's embrace.
Closer and closer, slower and slower, I return. My decent all but stops. I alight on the soft grass, the gentle summer breeze tugging at the corners of my shirt, a child trying to show me someplace.

Cupid the Sniper

For the longest time, Cupid was the cherub of love. Forever young and forever playful and optimistic. But, no good deed goes unpunished.
Cupid started to age, slowly at first, when people blamed him for mismatches and mix-ups. When work picked up, Cupid couldn't keep up. He had to incorporate. His worker drones weren't too bright and errors and mistakes made business bad. He kept getting older.
One day, he decided to hang up his halo, his faithful bow and arrow. He found himself aging faster with no purpose. So his purpose, became revenge.
Mad in his age and current state of mind, he decided two arrows for two people was just a bad system. Why not two arrows for one person? Why not stash the other arrow and let the person go unmatched forever?
Cupid called up the gods, and said he wanted his old job back. No more corporation. Why should the entire world be punished because he is busy? Why let the world accept sub-par standards? The gods reluctantly agreed. A few were suspicious of his new enthusiasm. They did their best to keep track of him.
And so the bodies lined up. Cupid discovered that a few good and true matches could do more than any unmade matches. A missed arrow grazing the heart, combined with the view of true love, would drive most people insane.
In fact, it has. It has driven many men and women absolutely mad. Some kill themselves. Others wait around forever and do nothing. Most go mad and take things into their own hands.
Cupid smiles upon those crazy enough to actively seek out love. He prefers it that way actual. No match made in heaven, but can they really complain in this world of suffering and torment they build for themselves.
Cupid is young again, but not as young as he used to be. He is still insane and wants to see those curse his name tortured. So be careful when you curse his name, he might be close by, and will shoot you once, to drive you insane.

This Poem is Probably About YOU.

Always waiting for that one lucky break, always wanting one more chance, it's not my fault, those other people are to blame, feed my addiction and turn a blind eye, always waiting for that one lucky break...

And I say...No.

Defiance to a self-fulfilling prophecy, the courage to drop the ball and walk away. Let the cycle spiral to its inevitable end.

Pull the rope tighter, observe the inevitable fry and snap. A shovel to lay a foundation, used to dig a void into which to fall.

Every opportunity to succeed and still failure is the result. Such weak acts of “rebellion” only enslaved and encouraged the status quo!

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- Note - I did write this, with one person in mind. One and only one.