with my creativity sapped and my mind continuously blank i wonder what it used to take to get me started. was it emotion? was it excitement? does nothing excite me anymore? have i become one-dimensional?

i think that there are roughly 30 people who may or may not read this on a given day. the list of people who list me as a favorite is inaccurate, as some are defunct and some are duplicates. is this what bothers me? 30 people climbing in my head? living up to what is expected?

where did this neurosis come from?

the wretched shrivels within me are knotted like affected throats during the saddest of songs. on the verges of pretension i just exist, doing little more than that which lurches me onward toward the unfeeling embrace of inevitability.

i see everything as inevitable.

i can't do this. i can't hold myself up anymore. the treading and retreading in this whole mess is its undoing. stagnation. it all stagnates and festers.

the song drones on.

turning to face the oncoming day i turn my back on myself. again i've filled my entire life with lies. i lie to no one like i lie to myself.

being alone was once my only comfort and even that has been infiltrated by yet another set of expectations to stray from: my own.