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epictails Oct 2015
"You sound off."
"Maybe I am or you heard me wrong."
I feel so desperate. I can't read or write or even listen to music. What did I ever do wrong to deserve this?
epictails Oct 2015
The world is too uncertain for us to be sure of anything. Personally I don't think there is an absolute truth. There I said it. Take me away Nietzsche, I'm with you on this one. We are all so different, all so set apart in our unique, frail and wicked mortality. To have one single frame of existence is debilitating. If this difference is so telling of our humanity then why the hell do we have truth? To what purpose? To contain and unite us despite our individuality? Suppose the truth is given this way: A newborn and a goat are expected to survive with just a small patch of grass. Which of the two gets more chance of survival and existential fulfillment? How can that be when those two are apples and oranges? Their circumstances are so opposite. How is life supposed to be fair to the newborn? I am not saying that life is fair because hell it is far from it. But do we accept that unfair principle or make our lives a little better?  Will his happiness be on that grass as well? Of course not. So he looks for new ways to be happy. He has his own truth.

To this end, I have questioned everything from my faith, to myself, to people, to science even. Life grows along with time and so are our realities. This is why these past few months I've been contradicting myself to the point of thinking I've gone mad. But the fact is I've grown from these experiences of letting my two polar opposites meet. It is honestly scary when these inner voices start jabbing at you like pointed needles.I am a walking contradiction and my mind is a maze of paradoxes and questions with no answers. Eventually, I got used to this mentally exhausting activity. When something entirely different from what I believe be it an opinion, an idea, or a controversy) speaks up in my face I've learned to accept them not as the truth but as possibilities that could very well be right or wrong. I will never be always right.

People are so used to the concept of certainty that we have altogether ignored the existence of possibility. Or the gray area to which simply no one end exists. I realized that we are all predisposed to find answers, to hang on to some sort of explanation to a world so phenomenally ungraspable. It is to the detriment of our open mindedness enough for us to fabricate truths which may very well be coverups for the all too universal fear of the unknown. We are afraid of floating in the ambiguous nature of our lives that we'd rather correct this with assumptions.
*** I was supposed to save this rant as a draft but I guess I published it instead -.- i am so disoriented as of late that sometimes Idk what the hell is going on
epictails Oct 2015
I've never fit in,
I never belonged anywhere
except to myself.
epictails Oct 2015
When you spread
out to the world,
scatter scamper
'till you get gone
with the shimmer
Rn I am basically wishing someone could take away my depression. I am so exhausted already- on an unrelated note
epictails Oct 2015
I have killed myself
thus far with only caffeine
in my string of nerves.

Anxiety looks on at my
hinges loose with each patter
of its dark grooves in my lips
I feel as tensed as
I already am.

My mind suddenly
pitching thoughts of
five or more different
ways I'll go gone as I pursue
the silent knives
in the kitchen or play along
the open danger of the fields.

I am dizzied up in heaps
of misty scenes under
each blink like the milky way
taking home in the blankets
of my lids.

What has spun dimless
like bright-eyed goblins
in the tightening of my ribs
creeps upward and downward
both of us lost in the tremor
of coffee,coffee and maybe
even some cream.

One cup, one cup
of all that is grave, unsolicited
of all things frail
stirred in a cauldron of my
own fairy god witch,
paranoia that *****.

But as I concur needful of
the eartheness, the subjectivity
I am hopeful, I am vital
I am called to hear life
beyond my worry
of dying as the world watches
on with coffee in their hands,
perhaps brewed
perhaps ****.

Juxtaposed between fear
and hope sits coffee for
some ******* chair
of a reason.I have hung on
to it like poison and antidote
mixed like hot and cold tea,
like Hades and Persephone.

I have wished for it
to stay with the fallout
of scuttling equilibrium.

Because it tastes so wrong
but it makes me right,
somehow,  somewhere
I can't quite place.
I am desperately clinging unto the life that coffee gives me despite  it worsening my anxiety.
epictails Oct 2015
The very worst of demons are the ones that can't be destroyed because they are a part of you
Happy world mental health day for those of us who are deep in pain.
epictails Oct 2015
I'm reeling myself in
like an old tape played, stretched
too thin by toddlers who
had their fun ******* my core
I am made to sensitize music
against a wheel as I am lying
in shambles against the hostile
cracks of the floor.
Spread too far out from my
beginnings, looking at small infinities
like how a drunk gofer gawks
at the pile of jobs on his hands

They used to love me.
I smelled mixtapes and anecdotes
in the curve of my spin
But I guess stories exasperate
for they are left in my past luster
like an old flame kept secret.
I will never sound the way I
once was again.
People leave when something
is unfixable as the chaos
of liquor in their bathrooms
and memories dilate
the visions of their nightmares
like a poison ivy
I am just but a stored conspiracy
of little lies they all have told me.

I'll loop until I am as discarded
as the empty case that
once meant everything to everybody.
I try my best to make my poems at least not random but my brain makes these connections and Idk things  just happen in them.
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