I'm not even angry anymore, just terribly sad.

What I want never seems to coordinate with what I supposedly need. I'm abstract in a tangible existence, and I can't feign normalcy. Everyday monotony is a disease and no one seems to be looking for the cure. I want creativity, vision, imagination, inspiration, color, wit, perception, ingenuity, artistry, revelation, flair, epiphany. I want to immerse myself in the intangible. The corporeal world has no appeal to me. I want to be brave enough. I am not brave enough and I do it to myself, I do.

This horror will grow mild, this darkness light.

There is something refreshing about change; any change. For all that I fight against it, I also deeply appreciate it. Nothing can last forever and I take comfort in that instead of grief.

Violence in the Violet

I'm a panicky and flighty creature, but I have no where to go. I've stopped making decisions so I won't make mistakes. I'm also having a hard time taking people seriously. That's the problem with liars, we never believe anyone else.