Pick it Up and Throw it All Around

No longer can I care. I can't. The trivial concerns and speculations are drowning me and these once vibrant prospects. It's all bullshit, I know how to swim. So, I'll say it plainly...I am afraid, broken, weak, and struggling. Struggling with the notion that I'm the only one who can put the stopper on this sorrowing status quo. Me. Alone. Suggestions appreciated, but unless they morph into motivation it might as well be going in one ear and out the other. Or IS it already? Ah, a problem identified? Listen. Listen. Lust less. Yes. You broke me and I broke me. I will and did break myself. Continually. Regardless of how many times I reflect and recalculate, it's impossible to shake the sense of dedication and longing. That makes me possibly the worst kind of self-hating types. And yes, I'm angry about WISHes. Angry that I am more prone to being my toughest critic than my best friend. Frustrated that I dwell much on talk and spend less on demonstrative actions. And also that sometimes I construct these thoughts for others more than myself. Though now....right now, this is for me. Beautiful and powerful ME. These words are steps, albeit small ones. Promises I'm sick of breaking. Sometimes there isn't a silver lining but in this case I'll be constructing one of my own.

How ever far away, I will always love you. And in this chaos and weakening weakness, I find strength. Through struggles I am forced to question the validity of fears and limitations. Acknowledging the destructively painful cycles of late nights, non-applications, and talkie talkie TALK should prove useful. It has to. Staying here promises nothing but demise. I'm telling you this. Honestly. Fearfully. Hold me accountable, damn it.