Seek. Repeat. Futile. Repent. Enough.

To love or to love not? To get out of bed in the morning or to just kill himself? Between all the layers of self loathing, self harm, obsession, distress, abuse, and misuse any person could have. He had the thickest layers, the most dense ones. Roadblocks, walls, dams, pits, layer upon layer of emptiness, coldness, void, sinking, sickening, detachment of the heart. He could never know what to do, how to feel, what to expect, or how to react. He felt controlled, a victim, a fool, a puppet in the hands of a cult of deranged and blind puppeteers. Rusty chains around his neck, torn ropes around his arms. Demanding, demonizing every move. It’s for the best anyway. He could never figure out for the life of him, what to do, if he didn’t have them in his sad, lonely, miserable life. He’s grown accustomed to them, their actions, their tones, their moans, their scorn. He is a coward. A quitter. A fiend for the unseen and immeasurable. A liar. Incomplete, woven, immoral, sustained, weary. A whiner who’s always wallowing in tears. Demanding. Insignificant. Ignorant. He is you. He is me. He. He throws his problems on you, on me, on no one. He is afraid. He doesn’t stick to his own words. He’s a loser. He’s talk, talk, talk. Empty words. Empty promises. Empty actions. No actions at all. It doesn’t have to be like this. Or does it? Hell, maybe, what do I know. It seems that he had chosen his way, the way had chosen him. It doesn’t matter. It never did. Contemplating about this is futile. This is meaningless. This is meaningful. This is nothing. This is everything. Why? Nothing is ever going to happen. Nothing is going to change. Why would it? Why? He’ll wake up. Damn himself. Seek attention. No one is looking. Piss. Brush his teeth. Get dressed. Have breakfast. Walk. Walk. He’ll keep on walking. He knows nothing else. They never taught him. He never bothered to change. It’s impossible to change. He is set. He is gone. He is no where. He is waiting. Wait more. Wait. Here you go. Noting. Everything. Understand this, or don’t. He doesn’t care. You don’t care. No one cares. Get sad. Be happy. Seek money. Spend it. Seek money. Spend it. Seek money. Spend it. Seek. Repeat. Tomorrow is going to be better. They are going to change. They didn’t change. Get angry at yourself. The world is unfair. Why? This is not about you. This is about him. He doesn’t exist. Neither do you. There is no problem. There is only a solution. Be better. Repent. Be better. Repent. Repent. Repeat. This didn’t solve anything. There was never a problem in the first place, remember? He Knows what he is doing. He is always right. He doesn’t need you. He doesn’t need me. He needs himself. He’s an island. He is a continent of self-worth, self-pity, righteousness. A plane of delusions. A dark matter of expectations, entitlement and missed thoughts. He is his own god. He is a slave to his own mind. He knows it all. He is certain. It is his way. It is his way, his right way. Always.

Enough.