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Literature Text
Waking up to a paranoid delusion of external silence and internal raging creating a cacophony of senseless shouting and constant berating
failure to be satisfied with the reality you face, struggling to accept that you can't change everything and everyone to meet your high expectations, sliding in desperation towards omnidirectional disappointment and imminent collapse
stifling self-enforced incapability and inability to trend towards expression, your conscience screams restraint as your thoughts cry out about oppression and depression and a terrifying mix of everything blending into one single shade of dark red, blood red, the color of disdain and disgust and everything you feel about yourself and everything around you
constantly questioning, why do you even still try? Clinging to illusions of grandeur, holding on for dear life to a lie, a simple false hope that things will get better in the end, that everyone will come out all smiles, that little saying people say to escape that what doesn't kill makes you stronger but everything just makes you weaker and closer to the brink and you start to think that maybe, that's just what they say, so that you don't scream when it all pushes you over the edge, and you fall into the dark shroud you made by hand for the corpse of your sanity
failure to be satisfied with the reality you face, struggling to accept that you can't change everything and everyone to meet your high expectations, sliding in desperation towards omnidirectional disappointment and imminent collapse
stifling self-enforced incapability and inability to trend towards expression, your conscience screams restraint as your thoughts cry out about oppression and depression and a terrifying mix of everything blending into one single shade of dark red, blood red, the color of disdain and disgust and everything you feel about yourself and everything around you
constantly questioning, why do you even still try? Clinging to illusions of grandeur, holding on for dear life to a lie, a simple false hope that things will get better in the end, that everyone will come out all smiles, that little saying people say to escape that what doesn't kill makes you stronger but everything just makes you weaker and closer to the brink and you start to think that maybe, that's just what they say, so that you don't scream when it all pushes you over the edge, and you fall into the dark shroud you made by hand for the corpse of your sanity
Had inspiration the other day. Shoulda acted on it sooner and maybe it wouldn't be so horrible and ramble-y and not-make-senseish but whatever who cares this is a thing and I made this thing goodbye
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Waking up to a panty conclucistoin of internal silence and internal raging creatcitng a elephony of SNES shouting and castlemyasshole
I'd write the whole thing that way but it's 2:19 AM
I'd write the whole thing that way but it's 2:19 AM