Written Nov.13, 2008
Sometimes I think I’m a masochist. Surrounding myself with caustic people, falling in love with people who will never love me, poisoning my soul and steadily increasing my cinicism. My heart betrays me to now end sometimes. My brain screams in protest with its intelligence and cunning, but my heart has no cranium to regulate and extinguish the idiocy of its eager muscular form. It just continues to pulse and pump warmth and life and hope through my empty limbs and vital organs. I think my brain might sever ties with the damned thing, if they could live without each other.
But my brain betrays me too. Constantly producing these meandering thoughts that evoke the cursed emotions that my heart devours. So although I may think I’m the only person who I can trust not to hurt me, maybe I myself am actually the greatest liability to my own pain.
Contentment please. I beg you, peace.
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