A prelude to oblivion.
With baggy eyes and a mouth sewn shut I've learned to disengage myself from desire through electronic obsession and hibernation. This is a tactic I mastered back in high school and still proves itself worth today. Escapism is a way of life, and for the most part it is easy and enjoyable. Ironically, I am more in-touch with reality in my dreams. I know this because I awaken with a jaw sore from grinding my teeth for hours, and lingering images of faces and places that I wish I could be involved with.
And there are of course the few waking moments when it hits me. Disappointment and despondency come fast, and I choose to sleep to avoid them. And I don't hope for good dreams to make me realize how bleak things are in contrast, nor bad dreams to drive me further down. I hope for no dreams. I hope for the billowy black and the boundless nothingness. I hope for a little slice of death.
Everything I do is trite.
Self-revelation is annihilation of self.
And there are of course the few waking moments when it hits me. Disappointment and despondency come fast, and I choose to sleep to avoid them. And I don't hope for good dreams to make me realize how bleak things are in contrast, nor bad dreams to drive me further down. I hope for no dreams. I hope for the billowy black and the boundless nothingness. I hope for a little slice of death.
Everything I do is trite.
Self-revelation is annihilation of self.