February 13, 2010

It is time for release.

It has been too long, my little black book. Maybe I am feeling as I am because I have neglected your reflections for too long. As my thoughts spew through my being and into you, I come to realize that I don't even know where to begin, or continue, rather. I suppose I must reinstate what I said in the last entry; that this existence is no easier whatsoever, and that it is impossible for me to escape this undying loneliness. My actions and etiquette have strayed from my goals of late, and my mind has been filled with demoralizing thoughts. Is it wrong that I sit in an ever decaying physical world, wishing that the human race was not the Earth's cancer? Is it wrong that I hope for hope itself? That I contemplate thinking for the sake of thought? That I change in the name of change? I tell myself that this is the way that things should be, and yet every day I see the opposite from other. I cannot help but shed a tear when reflecting upon what we have become; what I have become. To keep this pain pent up in my spirit forces my mind more towards madness, behind this self constructed barrier. The true war soaked battlefield is within my very essence. The metaphysical pain can be cured by physical release, however, and what remains is the beauty of the body. The art of my essence. The creation of beauty ushers in such immense states absolute pleasure, for I have discovered another euphoria. Euphoria. It frees my being from its loneliness for some time, yet some time is not all time. Some time that is time nonetheless.

-Trash Incarnate; February 12, 2010 ~ 10:40 pm

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