Leaving situations like this to my past and to others to struggle with is never an option. It's like I force myself into the tightest corners and fastest sinking quicksand within my eye sight as some sort of life experience I can equip like tools in my utility belt. I'd like to think I don't do it on purpose but to be entirely honest, I'm not ignorant in my self proclaimed adversity, I crave it. I probably wouldnt know what to do without that ever present impending doom and self loathing. I look into strangers faces often just to imagine that the version of me they've crafted, that unknown strange rubric of myself they've weaved into reality, is the most pristine copy of myself. Oh how blissful not knowing my thoughts could be; sweet unsustainable ignorance.
I wonder if someday I can shed this ugly coat for one that shines in the sun; if change for the better is possible, I cant seem to figure out how. Lamenting seems a more suited pastime for the likes of me. Oh how I speed to sadness on the highway like my last ditch option to sanity, my life whirring past like irrelevant scenery. I watch the trees of my memories blend into one clip reel of a movie exiled to extinction. I want them to be on fire. I'd like to light then aflame