With A Castle Strapped To My Back
I can hear them now, the thousands of reasons, like a dust storm of tiny razor blades. All of them, cutting my sense of beauty down piece by piece by piece. They differ slightly, from internal to external chemical stimulae, but in the end amount to very little more than no. I think I would bear this more easily if they did not all love me. But I have told many of them no, never, so perhaps this is the hell I have wrought for myself.
Time to wrap myself in the cold shackles of work once again. There, at least, I can perhaps return to the blessed absence of not feeling.
I probably deserve this. It is probably just. So few things in this world are, I should take solace in that.
Written On: Blackberry