“It Doesn’t Makes Sense.”

Our whole lives are one big advertisement. Walking billboards of bull shit. We sell ourselves only to purchase free advertisement for the next asshole.  Not ashamed but I am obviously. I can’t make my own clothes so there’s your answer without a question. A non reversible trend that just makes sense. Who knew child labor could be so useful? Every fuck but you apparently.

Feeling violent today. No idea what that really means as a pacifist. With the right set of circumstances I could bash a skull in. Feel the crushing of teeth under my boot. Impossible I know, but a great visual none the less. Brewing on a horror story as of late. Not sure if it will be a better visual story or a literal master piece. Extremely hard to write a ghost story in first person narrative without sounding repetitive and I suck at conventional writing. I can’t wrap my head around the structure without sounding like an asshole about it. Sucks being a one trick pony, but if one person could do it all than why have anyone at all?

As in introvert and an asshole I’m not sure how to answer that. Paradise is not talking to anyone ever again, so there goes that. My eyes hurt from rubbing them. I guess you could call them raw. No sleep will do that. The high life is killing me. Searching for a place in this world seems to be a constant theme in the arc that is my life. I question myself every day when I show up to my shitty job, drink my shitty energy drink, and write down my pointless thoughts.

Often I think I am destined for more, but usually on a day like today I think that this is it. I was born, raised, suffered, and lived to do this. Sometimes it makes me sad and other times I think, Could be worse. But could it? What is worse than doing nothing at all? A purpose is a reason and without one. What the hell am I doing? My own self-doubt digs my own grave. I have a problem of fighting for the things I don’t want and watching the things I do pass me by.

Own worst enemy cliché bullshit going on. A constant war within myself, fueling the self-doubt that I will be anything more than this. Nothing at all. What if what I truly want is based less on luck then I think? Doubt it but then again who am I? A constant reassurance has reassured me that I am right. I want more but I’m too afraid. Not sure of what exactly. Not sure if I’m being human or being me. Sitting on the side lines of my shitty life is getting old. I am getting old. Life is not what I thought it was. What I was told it would be. Life is what you make it, but what if you don’t know how to make it?

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