What can I say?

Apologies.

Since the year of the 'downfall', I've been on an incessantly murky journey. No, longer than that. For a long time, I called it growth. I called it revelation. I somehow thought I could see it all in black and white. Pink and green, if I may. Ofcourse, grays are mostly what I got. Or orange rather. Like my orange house. Orange walls. Orange peeling off.

I also thought I thought something worthwhile. I thought I wrote something worthwhile. I thought I could do those worthwhile things. My frivolity wanted to stop but it never did for me and today I think that's what defines me. A frivolous, worthless object, trying too hard to be anything. Taking people onto this dusty highway with me, and then leaving them holding a cup of water and watching me scurry off to the next left turn. Taking on the task of doing something I don't want to for an evening, making a fool out of myself, just for the evening and thereafter. 

It goes on and I don't think it will stop. I am never under the influence of anything larger than me. It's me who loves you, me who hurts you and me who hates you. Me who cares about this whole world and me who cares only about my own. Me who talks too much often but me who can't answer a single question. 

Too often, I am faced with my own one, specially on mornings I wake up to and recall, like a blunt stump of an old tree cut down, 'what can I say that will make this go away?' its the toughest and I have no answer because even if I do have one, I will not carry it out because someone like me thrives on self-created misery, some sort of parasitic mania, subdued at all times but stinging myself in the eye. And I do love that kind of pain. 

We choose the people who enter into our lives and once they do, each for their own individuality, the absence of them leaves a vacuum that no other can fill. Sometimes, we send them invitations to enter and at other times, they crash into ours. They talk and they mean the words you hear. 

I can argue with myself for years now. R to A, A to R. I am a bit scared of my once cherished favourite passtime. Like that body bind curse that made me feel dead twice. I enjoyed the fear and confusion it provoked into a sleeping stone structure like me. 

I really have no point to make, apart from a warning sign to stay away from the diabolics of our population, comme moi.