I am just so ugly inside. My self-righteousness and self-pity makes me feel so alone, and I shrug patronizingly at my own internal conflicts knowing that this too shall pass.
What is stopping me from living like I'm redeemed? Why is it that I can't seem to connect with God and with people at the same time?
These failures of existing are so insubstantial and insufferably genetic. I'm trying not to bumble around like my own pathetic version of Dogberry, but I am about just as confused and just as confusing.
I don't want a cycle of recycled revenge. I don't want to follow death and all of his friends.
I want to go home. I want to walk out into the woods and sit on Mount Fuji and let little trickles of tears relieve my shrunken little heart as I share what I can find words to share with my pen and paper. "This is not what I wanted." I don't know what I want.
I want to burn away.