I'm constantly lamenting zero notifications on the newsfeed because I live in Plato's cave as nothing but a living shadow. I never see myself being happy, just euphoric, and the difference is an obvious jut between the peaceful Bodhisatva making eternity his home in the calm moon-lit night of China-like hills in Oregon, and ****** pressed into a varicose vein and kablam, hello peace. Hello, peace.

I'd say I'm manic. As in I'm elastic, and life makes my brain muscle so ******* spastic, I can't help but wonder if I've wandered to far into the realm of happy-sadness because everything I do is spoken word in ad lib, I'm not so sure about this

self-help stuff, this

self-improvement, the idea is soothing, but I think I was late to whatever point was made in its benefit

*** I still feel sad, and that's it.

and somebody telling me how to feel good just makes me feel worse *** why don't I feel real? why does it feel like everything I do is a near-life experience, I'm just waiting to wake up and as far as I can tell, it's the same as waiting to die-- I'm not trying to be depressing.

I'm just looking for the lesson to lessen the mess on the desk of my head.. cluttered with butter, shattered and muttering my final dictates to whatever half of me knows it's all okay forever and ever.

I'm still in love with everyone I ever said I was, I try to pretend her blood-soaked departure isn't the reason I fake a British accent at parties to make myself seem more attractive to everyone including myself, but who am
I
kidding?

what kind of trick is it to wear this mitten, even if I admit it and it's just a part of me indulging in the holy trinity of my father, my son, and the holy ghost.. who IS the holy ghost?

I'm the holy ghost because I have never met myself beyond mirrors and photographs and it's not quite the same as the way I knew you. I know all of you better than I know myself.