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January 19, 2018

A simple number, 2018.01.19, but one that has no meaning. Its another day, another light/dark cycle in an endless line of cycles. Funny thing is, is that I don’t want the cycles to end, I want to live, but I feel I am not able or worthy or meant to.
Today is another day, one where I will fail, one where I will try to get back up but ultimately fail. Every day takes another piece of me.
I have hope, yet this darkness covers it, whispers that its not for me like a cruel seductress. Its not death that whispers, but the darkness itself, the mirror, the shade, the shadow. Its my own voice that tells me these things, its my own body I see speak the words, its my own eyes that show me how I am undeserving of anything, its my own heart whose beating threatens to send away any good in my life. My own will, ambition and motivation have become twisted and squeezed of all life, leaving nothing but the reminder of what I once was and possibly could have been.

From → My Journal Redux

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