Trying to drown the loneliness was the worst mistake I ever made. But is it cowardly to retire to yourself? Who would I become? I can’t shake these two words together. The certainty of the people around me kills me more and more every day. But I am just as certain. The minute my branches reach towards the sun, the wind blows and my leaves fall away. I can only truly sit deep within the essence of myself to be comfortable in this way. I shave away at who I am when I grasp at any concept of right and wrong, or truth and misconception. For only in complete uncertainty is anything real. Or, maybe it is as simple as suspending [my] existential disbelief. But with each assertion I come back to some fundamental indescribable truth that I feel within my belly, that I can’t ever truly look at. When I sleep I sing and when I sing a understand but only then. Things have always affected me in not a physical way, but a deep, unknown, internal way before actually touching my skin. Sometimes I can see it. But then like death I forget. Its like I'm living and dying within my own lifespan. Forgetting and discovering, but never truly knowing. I'm just trying to figure anything out. I am god. I am dust.
Who is anyone in the eyes of death? What does it mean to suck on the bosom of those legendary humans? They know who they are and they know their place, they died like Jesus. Now they're gone. What does it mean to uphold these figures? What does it mean to find purpose in their art? What does it mean to find those who don't? Does anyone [reject] art? When did I stop hating? When did I stop hating art? When did I discover new meaning in the music I once listened to? When did art become so fluid? When did something mean nothing and nothing mean something? Why would it be any other way for any other human? This is where I’m lost; when anyone is found. When truth is absolute and you are your NAME and your OPINIONS. How can a moment be stretched so far?