Everyone around me fancies themselves victims, martyrs.

Everyone deals with their demons differently, some talk them into extinction, others let theirs lead them on a leash, some keep steady pace as they run next to each other.

Ive never been one to conversate with my own, I just stand from the steam and try to focus on staying sane enough to keep from counting the bathroom tiles everyday I wake up.

To some, I am dreams, to others nightmarish- I let down more people than I can keep track of, and at this point those closest to me can’t muster more than a second of dissapinment before they rearrange themselves and forgive my actions because I’m good at that- forgiving myself for others.

Call it psychopathic, illogical, methodical, but I’ve been watching the piles of clothes stack up in my room for weeks now, I’ve been avoiding the sun and smoking myself schizophrenic. 

Lack of ambition is a good way to expose shortcomings in your self education and I live under the pretense that life is set, life is alright. I ask for advice but I don’t take it, I listen to what my mind says but I can’t follow through, addiction speaks for my money spent and my walking shoes, sadness for my inconsistency and despite all of everyone’s efforts, my shortcomings are deliberate and self-excused.  Why suffer but internally? Who to speak to but yourself? Why provide context when you can wallow? Ah- all questions so self suffiencient and all answers so tired. 

I’m sad, yeah we know.

It’s of my own doing, figures.

I’ve championed my own regret for a while now, oh how righteous!

I’ve fancied myself a prophet, a sinner, lay off the stuff.

I lie to my mother over Sunday dinner, father/son/holy spirit 

Watch shitty tv and trust myself to do the wrong thing, always! always! always!!

https://vimeo.com/382347305