this is getting old

what people said was never louder than the dialogue that colored my mind.
it is always there.
it always speaks without making a sound but somehow it is the very propellant of my person.
racing vibrancy, and sometimes a cloaked fog.
always strung together in a peculiar timeline that has no regard for what i actually live, experience.

constantly, the sacred parts of my mind grapple with the cavernous emptiness, the wastelands of lethargy.
from the blackouts of unconsciousness i shred my way out.
not a bone in my body is left in peace in this battle for rest
every joint, muscle, and fiber is worn to exhaustion.

at night I do not dream.
things happen that would bring God to tears, yet i feel nothing.
what can i do?
I was also fed the subtle line, "That's just Life and Life isn't fair."

and so i let life happen to me, like a sheep falling in line, trusting blindly. so deaf and numb to my own conscience.
conditioned for mediocrity, conditioned to look away
playing a game of pretend.

anger and acceptance and refining and knowing myself are things that hurt. 

life isn't simple. yet it is good.


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