Paradoxical
Like this summer depression
My journal entries sound more like Confession
Than the answers to any philosophical question

All the same fears and tears
These past few years

How do I know my life wasn't left on repeat
Or pause
Living the effects so what's the cause?

Why?
         Why what?
                   Why do you hate the attention?
The truth is, i don't hate the attention. I love it.
But i was told if i even so much as showed that love,
        i was a brazen *****.

Scratch that either way i would be framed as a ****.

Have you ever thought that
the weight on your back
might be never-used wings?

I glossed over the cracks
that kept the illusion intact
sweet vapid intention
which was never intended for annihilation
just a purpose
that may have been beyond our comprehension.
I waited for the neural itch to decode
I waited for the dream state to dissipate
after I found the roadmap in the scars you could never hide.
We never had a direction
yet we embraced the fluidity that allowed us to exist in a vacuum
of possibility
where we forget the name of every ghost that lingers on the periphery.