it seems like proving yourself is the only vice we have as human beings to immerse ourselves into a fucked up society.
the wall is beginning to develop a fold cracking into multiple veins laced with porcelain among other odd constructional facets. if i press my right index finger two centimeters westward, the entire foundation in crushed. which then brings one to this cycle of gathering your belongings and that pride hushed in between the sofa covers.
it gets frustrating. you build your talents in learning from mistakes, rise above the interminable black hole of defeat, sew your skin back to bone and hope that this upgraded version of you suits this moment. you sit back on a chair that has your bodily frame memorized and ponder why has it happened to everyone else and not you. all those circus freaks with absolutely no talent surface the tide and your still holding your breath ten feet under...
why. why this keep happening? there's only so much good you can harvest under years of stormy weather. so you search into someone’s eyes hoping to sense that feeling behind their pupils. you get nothing. you then revert to staring at the blotchy circles under your own eyes. red spikes instilled around the white cylinder. wrinkles you never thought would come at an early age start to introduce themselves.
your reflection haunts the reality you initiated from birth. as frightening as it appears to be, it is actually sensational.
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