All of me is very pathetic: I am not overweight, but am by no means strong, nor do I possess any significant measure of success or unique strength in any certain area. I work, eat- though sometimes I wish that I didn’t-, sleep, and spend the rest of the time just being lonely and writing about people that I see. It’s embarrassingly lame.
I am tired too: I don’t have anyone to just rest with. I watch porn because I’m so fracking lonely; I cry because it’s pathetic; then I pretend it didn’t happen, almost never really confronting it as an issue. I lie about it, ignore it, and dream that I am actually some human battery being used for a machine-run matrix or some other complicated bullshite.
I hate the wind and I despise its gale;
I hate when it strikes the top mast and sail.
I’d much prefer to climb the stairs to heaven’s gate
Than stay on earth, left to men, and man’s fate.
But the ship steers away; it’s breaking off due south,
Bound for a bitter land; heading for trade of mouth.
In this light, I cannot see; under the sun, I am blind.
I hope, I pray, I dream, that in this land, you are what I find.