catwizard

Pain always seems to reconstitute itself in various manners. Just when you think you locked the door behind it, Pain not only has the key to that door but others. I honestly can say I despise my current self, which is only perpetuating my self wallowing and malcontent for my own attitude, I am a breathing enigma. I strive for change, success, and happiness but always find myself doing absolutely nothing for it. I attempt to care and reintegrate passion into my life, passion for anything. Yet I stand alone silently, passing time in hell's waiting room. Perhaps death after life is something to look forward to, seems entirely less complicated than the dismal purgatory of human existence. The drawn out human tragedy that we insistently involve ourselves in, is no more than a siren of ill fate. Unable to fight the beautiful songs of promise, we drop our survival instincts and needs as we attempt to allow ourselves to believe we need things, such as love, money, society, god and so forth. But if this is actually true then all this shit i just wrote doesn't really matter or mean anything to begin with, so here I am again staring at the ceiling and waiting for it to answer my question.