It’s funny I’m getting that same urge over and over without putting too much effort in it. Finally I have succeeded in alienating myself from the people I work with and the people I value the most. Unfortunately not all of them are included as of yet. Do I really want to finish until the very last one? Probably so. Solitary comfort isn’t easy, but neither is companionship. All I need now is a safe haven to call my own and I would be ready to go, burst forth into the horizon like an eagle in the night, all blind and fragile. With regal wings that dare not spread unless the sudden outburst of need arises. That’s what basically happened to unsung heroes. Maybe I am an unsung hero. If not, will I ever be? Do I have the potential? Since we’re discussing urges might as well mention the inner urge in me wanting to partake the fame game. Never will I perish without a legacy to behold, to avenge myself against the same people that ridiculed my in-born potential. The champion within me arises like a fiery, popsicle waiting to get sucked by a monstrous, gigantic infant with fifty times bigger the size of my brain but fifty times dumber too. When all else fails then it has to be at least something worthwhile, that I may legally say ‘fuck you!’ to y’all. And that you and the others before you will never ever attain by any means what I have in my head and the heads before me had accomplished.
Dark, darker, darkest, there is no difference. All hurts the same. Pain, everlasting, lingering. Pain, day and night. The hours are uncertain. Anything can happen now. Thinking about it hurts. Truth is unreliable. The romance is dead. My heart, it is lost. Unrecoverable, hateful, distrusting. Wishful, perhaps, but I have lost everything before and survived still. This one was special. So special. Embittered, the tip of my tongue tastes. The flavour of my life. Cuisine of kitchens unwanted. It burns, to the heart. I do not understand. I do not understand.