so i just photographed and framed it
i'd like to feel a real emotion for once. something tangible. something that grips me, demanding my attention at all hours. i wouldn't even mind the sleep loss, or lack of focus, or anything. even if it was real sadness. i think i'd be overjoyed to experience something beyond material and mimicry, even if that 'elation' conflicts with whatever i'm feeling. i think i need that.
i haven't felt anything real in a long, long time, if ever. i've told myself i have. i've manufactured interest, and love, and hate, and compassion, and i've sold away parts of myself for a cheap hug or kiss, and it's not living. in part, i do miss that smug sense of reality, my veiled perceptions and whatnot. at least i believed them then. now, it's all apathy and acting.
on a related, though opposite, token, i'm sorry you couldn't love me. i'm sorry my lack of base humanity and social concept scared you away. i'm sorry you weren't the anchor that managed to pull me back into this sensory world. i'm sorry i haven't found said anchor yet. i wish it'd been you. i do. but wishing isn't an emotion. it's little more than a misguided thought, and i've had many of them. wishing doesn't fucking cut it anymore.
i'm so fucking tired of myself. i'm tired of this detachment. this inherent nonchalance that blankets me. i'm tired of only finding reflection in the butt of a cigarette. i'm tired of whatever mixture of brand X feelings i can muster for the day. i've said it before, but hardly meant it. i'm fucking tired of it.
i think i'll write up an angry rant, relieving whatever tensions i have while destroying whatever relationships i've spent the last fourteen months building. i want to. i'd love to fucking hate you all, so long as it meant i really hated you. so long as it was real.
so long.
i haven't felt anything real in a long, long time, if ever. i've told myself i have. i've manufactured interest, and love, and hate, and compassion, and i've sold away parts of myself for a cheap hug or kiss, and it's not living. in part, i do miss that smug sense of reality, my veiled perceptions and whatnot. at least i believed them then. now, it's all apathy and acting.
on a related, though opposite, token, i'm sorry you couldn't love me. i'm sorry my lack of base humanity and social concept scared you away. i'm sorry you weren't the anchor that managed to pull me back into this sensory world. i'm sorry i haven't found said anchor yet. i wish it'd been you. i do. but wishing isn't an emotion. it's little more than a misguided thought, and i've had many of them. wishing doesn't fucking cut it anymore.
i'm so fucking tired of myself. i'm tired of this detachment. this inherent nonchalance that blankets me. i'm tired of only finding reflection in the butt of a cigarette. i'm tired of whatever mixture of brand X feelings i can muster for the day. i've said it before, but hardly meant it. i'm fucking tired of it.
i think i'll write up an angry rant, relieving whatever tensions i have while destroying whatever relationships i've spent the last fourteen months building. i want to. i'd love to fucking hate you all, so long as it meant i really hated you. so long as it was real.
so long.