I feel ******* stagnant.
Words I "pretty-up," justified; as if anyone cares.
The addiction I feed slows me down.
I'm getting older, even dumber.
The more **** I learn, the less I know.
Romanticize about **** that will never happen,
or history overly glorified.

I want to reach out for help,
but this facade is supposed to be stoic.
How am I to relate,
when every ******* thing I see is dreamed up, "imaginary?"

I am a husk, a shell of the former me.
A happier man, sickened with ego.
Heightened on the pedestal, I carry myself.
Sometimes, I can't even see the ******* ground below my feet.
Prior to before, everything now revolves around me.

I care deeply about people.
I cannot function in the day to day reality.
So, I soak and sit alone, most nights I feel like a drone.
Wanting to be intelligent, wanting to be artistic.
Wanting to help people, wanting to be iconic.
Honestly, just a speckle in the **** we call life.