I don't know where to start...
Trying to make an art sometimes doesn't seems so smart,
But I endure.
Weaving in and out of comments still trying to find an inward allure.
I feel so stagnant.
If I don't have passion for my creations how would anyone find passion in them
Depression is only the fragment.
Thoughts tell me I'm condemned.
Writer's block turns into a life block
I want to make a difference in someone without any shock
A difference is made but it's not a positive difference
I guess there is truth to a Yin and a Yang
Some evil in doing good and some good in doing evil
I try to shoot evil in the foot to see it's retrieval
But it rises like a great shadow overwhelming my motivation
Like a full investment in a ponzi scheme corporation
My life is a real contradiction
Trying to distinguish truth from fiction.
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Life is becoming a blur.
What has happened to me?
How have I sunk this deep?
Temporary? Maybe.
But this is now.
"Now" is what I have to conquer
The future has it's own battles.
I try to wait for a new beginning but deep down I know it will never come
Days continue to eat my life away.
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