What Shall Remain Untitled

I’ve been bailing from my own ground, wandering into emptiness where everything seems so slow and meaningless. I’ve been raging on my own decisions to go from where to nowhere, but I can’t stay mad forever, I have to go on. The world is riding its roller-coaster to unknown and I’m one of the passengers. Just the thought of it beset me already.

Must I say this tangling of fortunes and misfortunes, pains and delights, joy and sadness, intricate one and another, like a beautiful symphony. Pain rhymes with Plain. Naked rhymes with jaded. Sadness rhymes with madness. Everything is uncannily less-extraordinary, but attached so good it drifts me away.

I’ve been wavering too much, went back and forth, over thoughts. I myself standing in a panoptic prison where I’m surrounded by my own dreams and desires, all caged perfectly in every cell where I could see them. They’re howling.
Even if I want to release them, do I have a good reason to do so? Do I agonize over a question which is not meant to be answered?

Oh the greatest failure of all is to wait.

And here I am waiting.


Even to be insane, people have to have a good reason. So they will get empathy or tolerance. I don’t have any reason to be insane or having a mere mental breakdown. All the reasons in the world has been used, there’s no genuine one left.

But I know I’m not okay.

We’re living in a world where sane is the new insane, that people veil their insanity so good because insanity is just one cloth and one paper away; when you go out naked or a doctor tells you that you suffered from mental illnesses.

I’m so overwhelmed with this plague, which doesn’t have any cause. How do I manage to find the cure if I couldn’t trace its beginning? I could feel a sickness rolled in me with gigantic waves, calmly squeezes me from the inside into shredded pieces.

I’m slowly sinking into the thoughts where it begins to splotch everywhere. My skin starts to shrivel. I’m running out of time.

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