backasswardsK

Anxiety is a fickle little bastard that crawls in through the cracks in my soul and upsets any semblance of balance I manage to temporarily achieve, happiness and laughter are elusive, my moods are capricious assholes, my breakdowns are unforeseeable, my strangeness is not beautiful, I am not artistically eccentric, I am only unconventional sometimes because I am tired of holding myself back (I don’t remember what it feels like not to be restrained) I am suffocating under everything I’ve crammed inside, it pushes out of the cracks, after everything I am just so fed up with being afraid, I hate the child that speaks to me in a s

Why do you look to the heavens and ask the stars thousands of your lifetimes away about the world around you when you can get the answers from a refusal to be ignorant yet, you still choose to blind yourself in your hope granted from the utter oblivion above I understand, of course a plane void of light sometimes seems like a brighter future than the one I'm living too