(no subject)
Humbleness is a good practice. But that is a grave mistake. Staying humble leads to nowhere, staying humble is disastrous. I was told to stay humble, but I know better it isn't going to happen. I stay silent, yet it shows that I look down on them. Losing a good night over one fictional implication that the tags are on us as severe as scars taught me how real it is that we cannot be accepted. Oh Lord, look at them; may we be monsters, but those are demons at finest.
People constantly ramble on how people favour sweet nothings spoken rather than acted, and there goes a shard of hope that showing off means everything. I take it seriously as a game I will never bother to win, yet they are eager to decide I am the loser. Nice. Well played. Merit is to measure, merit is to decide, merit is to bargain. I love free will as much as I love him, though I am willing to choose the other way and make them drop down the ladder.
That is a bit chuunibyou. And he would be anguished with that.
Now it is time to blossom like there is no tomorrow because I have been too late to the promise of twenty years old. Alas, drawing porn to fulfil that promise belated is inappropriate. Memories fade away as I hit my peak and find out the limits of my hard drive. This is to make up for the whole time I've spent on visceral hibernation. This is to tell of my worth, realised to the world with which I made a childish promise. I sure had a reason to feel so light within two months of past year, as I find it magical to believe in immortality flowing through collective treasures.
That statement still sounds nonsensical to me. This and that. As days pass, conflicted feelings grow. Words won't be listened, resolutions won't be told, efforts won't be seen. I hurdle obstacles known to myself and feel proud a little, but does that mean the world to me?
It means the world to me, the world I carelessly lost to the others for the sake of it.
A mad world. A world of pure madness.
It is a simple obsession for a mediocre untalented soul.
People constantly ramble on how people favour sweet nothings spoken rather than acted, and there goes a shard of hope that showing off means everything. I take it seriously as a game I will never bother to win, yet they are eager to decide I am the loser. Nice. Well played. Merit is to measure, merit is to decide, merit is to bargain. I love free will as much as I love him, though I am willing to choose the other way and make them drop down the ladder.
That is a bit chuunibyou. And he would be anguished with that.
Now it is time to blossom like there is no tomorrow because I have been too late to the promise of twenty years old. Alas, drawing porn to fulfil that promise belated is inappropriate. Memories fade away as I hit my peak and find out the limits of my hard drive. This is to make up for the whole time I've spent on visceral hibernation. This is to tell of my worth, realised to the world with which I made a childish promise. I sure had a reason to feel so light within two months of past year, as I find it magical to believe in immortality flowing through collective treasures.
That statement still sounds nonsensical to me. This and that. As days pass, conflicted feelings grow. Words won't be listened, resolutions won't be told, efforts won't be seen. I hurdle obstacles known to myself and feel proud a little, but does that mean the world to me?
It means the world to me, the world I carelessly lost to the others for the sake of it.
A mad world. A world of pure madness.
It is a simple obsession for a mediocre untalented soul.