I've heard them say

"Write what you know"

I've always written with a bashful pride. Never fully exploring where I am, what I am doing, what I want or need to be doing. I'm just like a watch. My act keeps spinning around and around and around without deterrence. It is sad when you come to really think about it. How predictable tomorrow will be when I wake. How much anger I must clench between my teeth and sadness I must weep.

But that is what I've done to myself. Not to anyone else have I hurt so drastically as myself. What was I supposed to do I wonder? Should I have simply obeyed? Not misbehave? Could I really pull a trick and become how I act in both worlds?

Sadness and anger has been all I've ever used. A word that I may misconstrue. After all what was it that I suffered to feel so compelled to shell my outer walls so thoroughly.

I feel the ditch that I've dug closing around me. I'll claw for eternity. But now I've lost my hope. Something has died inside of me. Something I'd been born with. Something I can no longer cling to apparently.

I can't help but feel ashamed for my blinded stupidity. Its been years since its inception and yet now at its final growth I am deflated. Depressed that I'd failed to stop such lunacy in its tracks. This - I suppose - is what I've done. My faith may linger and collapse but I will continue on apparently. Even if I keep walking into a wall.

Tis my sad revelation that failure is so ever apparent when the sun is down. I need something to boost my spirits. Anything at this point will help. But I can't seem to find the will to wish for it. If wishes were to be trusted to begin with.

The saddest thing of all is that I simply don't know.

I can't honestly remember why I originally believed. My words now feel so hollow. So disgusting and wasteful. Its truly a wonder that my words ever meant anything. Interesting thing is to me, now, I feel lost without them. Like a cub whose mother was extracted for meat and fur. I can't help but question my everything.

And the answer that is delivered is ever so original.

Because I had been forsaken by a plight so foul that only a man's mind could create it. Failed so many things that I just wanted to crawl back beneath the covers for a few more hours. Perhaps so that in the day that I wake I will have been forgotten.