miserablelittlepileofposts-blog

[miserablelittlepileofposts-blog]

No.

[miserablelittlepileofposts-blog]

I have a good life. A wife that I love and loves me back. A close family. I'm broke, but I have most everything I need. So why, why do I still feel alone. Why does it still feel like life isn't worth living. And it's not that I want to die, I just want to not exist. Why can't I just be happy.

[miserablelittlepileofposts-blog]

Sometimes my spoon is just, too big..

[miserablelittlepileofposts-blog]

I am inadequate.

[miserablelittlepileofposts-blog]

Cat

[miserablelittlepileofposts-blog]

You ever get the feeling to write with incredible detail about nothing at all, then remember. Literally no one cares.

[miserablelittlepileofposts-blog]

Yall ever read a post, and be like, that's a decent idea for a book. Then I think, it's probably been done already. But then then I think, that assumes Tumblr users are both literate and have the energy to do so.

Moral of of the story, I should write a book. (That also assumes I'm literate and have the energy to do do)

[miserablelittlepileofposts-blog]

The sun, colourful and bright, bursting with luminescence. Where have you gone. You no longer shine upon my day. The only radiance is from the monitor I sit in front of, who’s screen is brighter than my own future. The clicking of the keys, the only sound other than the terrors in my head. Do nothing but to imitate the pecking of their beaks against my skull. Who am I, when they have taken all there was. Who am I, when there is no more light. What am I, when all that’s left is the rotting flesh that not even the buzzards will claim. Fettering in my own self pity and woe, can I claim to be even the shell of a man. Or I’m I like the like the dark mist that envelopes me, the formless mass of thoughts and ideas wallowing in their grandeur. Yet, a grandeur not of greatness, but of emptiness and bleakness. The formless mass, proclaiming with great exuberance, here I am, the nothingness that takes all and gives back nothing.

Who am I, but for a miserable little pile of posts.

[miserablelittlepileofposts-blog]

I dislike how I've been conditioned to basically always be political. Whether it be something too progressive or something too conservative. I can see a post/meme/comment that is a joke, but there always seems to be some small part of my brain that sees a political side to it. I'd really like to just be, but no, here I go having opinions.

[miserablelittlepileofposts-blog]

I can't remember the last time I had a warmthful hug. Idk if I'm sad about that. More of just a realisation.

[miserablelittlepileofposts-blog]

The numbness is gone, but the emptiness has stayed. The pain creeps back in like the dog you left on the side of the road. You wanted to forget it, but you knew it was never really gone. Scratching on your door. The forced remembrance of a sordid past. And you know you'll let it back in. It's found you, it's come back. It knows what you did. The pain you've caused. The hurt you've wrought. And it wants to sit next to you again. Embrace you in it's matted mane. Let the stench of it fill your nose. You can taste it on your tongue. And you know it's back. And with it, the emptiness by its side. But the empty never left. The empty builds it power from the pain. You can feel it start to drape itself over everything. Encompassing the world you live in. Contrasting the harsh reality that you live in. What burns is hotter, what shivers is colder. It's there to tell you that you are nothing, there is nothing. The useless, worthless thing that you are. A pile of meat left rotting in the sun. The absence of your numbness has left you here. Was it what you wanted. Was it worth the pain. You push your brain, you try to find the reasons. And you want it to be. You want there to be a reason for the pain, the misery, the emptiness.

[miserablelittlepileofposts-blog]

The inner dialogue of a man alone in the dark with his thoughts. There's nothing so reckless as they fly past. Their talons grabbing as they go over head. A swarm of little inklings trying to take hold. Do you run for cover, do you lash out, or stand motionless in the abyss, hoping they won't latch on. But there's no true answer as you indulge in the swirling cocktail of emotions. Bingeing on the anxiety, the fear, the excitement. The desolation with hints of joy. The depression garnished with relief. Maybe the only thing to do as the flock of thoughts loom over head is to have a drink. And then hope the overly sweet taste of a hard mixed rum and coke numbs the senses to it. But you know that's just a ploy you tell yourself. A trick of the mind to tempt you further. A self made Trojan horse to bring down the defenses. Eventually leading to the vulture of thought feast on what's left. But who knows, maybe there won't be enough meat left on the carcass for them to enjoy. Letting you rest in the peaceful stillness of the night. A long awaited dreamless slumber.