Some days, I want to burry myself deep into the cold ground, where nothing but my thoughts move.
The only convenience would be not having anyone else listening to them, to intrude on my being.
Even there, I don’t think I would be satisfied with myself. Even now, I don’t know… anything.
My memory is so steep into its death that I have forgotten every part of me- every story, feeling, person, lesson, book and passion. I have forgotten them all- except for the rejection, bitterness, self-hate, guilt, alienation, and unworthiness. Maybe I make these up to feed my hungry mind. Maybe I am just weak as a sheep is for a hungry wolf. Maybe that is why I am constantly running from these people, things, places. I am afraid to settle because no one is allowed to see my voice undressed, my mask burned. Only because I do not know who, or what, is behind them.