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I've realized that I rely on "things"
such as pills,
to get me through the daze.
Weather it's the clouds in my lungs,
or the syrup that I swallow,
or even latest Salvatore novel,
I've just gotta have that "thing" to distract me from here.
Because I find this reality too much to bear.
Living vice-to-vice, couting down the years.
I just want everyone to be happy.

Self therapy.
**** rips in my kitchen.
Talking to oneself can be so productive.
Pacing back and forth with constant muttering.
I just want everyone to be happy.
Super weird how this ended up. mostly free-written. 100% different.
I look up at the evening sky and it nearly brings me to tears.
I feel so small in the grand scheme. I could live to be maybe what?
100 years?
This insignificance is my reality.

I feel so small in a world so big,
in a universe unfathomable
and I don't know what to do about it.
I can't make the noise in my head quiet.
I need something to give my mind a focus
and thus I write this nonsense.
These so called poems
with a hint of rant
and a bit of banter.
Smothered in self-sorrow.
Oh, woe is me.
So when the waves start crashing
I start typing.
The content can't be helped.
I just sit back and relax
let the keys click and clack
And focus.
It was a day like today when
I found myself nearly paralyzed
unable to move myself from my bed.
This existential depression is crippling.
Living like the dead.

I need a purpose, I need a reason
to continue down this path called life
but with out turning to hedonism.

But I have no real passions
I have no real hobbies.
I'm just sitting around waiting
stuck in purgatory.

If you've read my rants before you'll know of my nihilism.
And I've struggled to find the will to live for quite some time now.
I'm seeing several psychs and on a multitude of meds
that I will gladly abuse to try to transcend
to something greater.
Something more.
But this "instant-gratification" lifestyle can't go on forever.

Because money runs thin
and I hate running.
My lungs are filling up
and its with nothing healthy.
This low self-esteem feels like drowning.
Living like a problem not worth solving.
Each day passes, each the same.
Moving forward toward monotony.
If I am to go before you think I should,
bury me deep encased in wood.
If I am to pass on in my early years,
please don't cry for me, shed no tears.
Because it doesn't matter when,
it doesn't matter how,
it was bound to happen eventually.
My time just happens to be now.
I'm not afraid of dying.
Rather I find it annoying.
Because I need know what civilizations will be like in thousands of years
but I have no way of knowing.

The end of existence is much like before.
The quiet, peaceful-nothingness.
We are all heading towards.

This is the reality to which I'm confined.
A consciousness limited in body and mind.
a quickie
I had a thought
of fleeting bliss.
And then it was gone.
How fast I move on
to the next nonsensical,
possibly subliminal,
though more like subconscious,
train of thought.
Try clearing your mind,
you'll find it hard.
But once you get there
you find true reward.
This is all that came out. Perhaps I'll add to it later.
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