eyes awake in pitch black darkness. but its still day.
... i think i made you up inside my head...
i think i did. i'm wearing out a lonely glow. threadbare to the edges and i'm still left wondering what i should have done; emotions are liars in the face of reality.
relations are by circumstance; there are no such things as kindred spirits. is it kismet? is it fate? its BS. it is the unfortunate randomness of causal junctures. your movements are dictated by nothing more than instinct, and even when you actually have a purpose, it is to satisfy some carnal craving; a mere machination based on pure instinct and nothing of the confabulated lies of sophisticated human rumination. it is a farce. but no one knows; too infatuated with self-determination, trusting themselves that they are worth the lie.
and no one is perfect. the glow is partly subdued by shame, and thousands and thousands of extemporised words coughed up on a whim feels nothing like raw emotions; only verbose kitschs. i want to trust, but i don't want to trust.
the candle yawns with a flicker. i tire with all these... ravings. nonsensical and supercilious; they are just bad excuses to cover up my troglodytic self. desperate people clutch even at straws. i clutch at thoughts.
and i fall back and lie down, with threadbare emotions to guard against the algid frost of the day.