Woe be me. That’s always a good way to start a rant. Or even just another thought piece. What the absolute and dissolute hell is a thought piece? How incredibly elementary. It’s nothing more than a desperate attempt to make something that is purely emotional, intellectual. But that’s not possible. And so, it is a lie. A lie with great hair and eyes that can draw in the most withdrawn of women. But a lie nonetheless. I am the most downtrodden of pseudo writers. I mill about claiming to search for truth and answers, and yet I am not actually searching. I do not look. My eyes are closed, as is my mind. I am closed within myself, and closed to myself. A trap, a self-made cage in which I reside, waiting for death to come and end my miserable existence.
Dramatic. And yet, quite possibly accurate. I want an explosion of truth, the bright light, the end of the rainbow. I want wings to fly with, melted gold to bathe in, Helen of Troy to sleep with. I want raw, real, and radical. I settle for distraction. For false pleasures, incomplete answers, hypocrites. That is how we all live. And I am one of all, despite my hatred for all. I want to be me. To be what I could be. To be what I should be. But what is that?