In the future will I be able to say: "I no longer cry like I used to"? To do it more often, but for a different reason other than grieving. To cry in the presence of a woman. Such an unpleasant feeling.
The best that I can be always seems just out of reach. But I am sick and tired of being sick and tired of giving, yet never receiving anything in return. Despite this, it's the one thing I wish I could do forever.
Giving.
My whole being to someone else. To break their fall when they stumble. To guide their hands when they fumble. To light the way in the darkest of night.
My mind is slipping. Dripping in ink-like substance. Feeding the rot. Metastasizing throughout. Loss of control. Subjugated by chemical agents in conjunction with brain activity.
The real me. You don't know. And never will. For I am still. When you draw near.
Bittersweet addiction. Sometimes I am sweet on you.
To my dismay...
It comes and goes. I cannot change. We are who we are.