That Condition of His

I am pessimistic to the point of being a fool. And in turn I am foolish to the point of being a dysfunctional mess. Like I would love to believe that I’m great when I’m working properly, but that doesn’t ever really quite happen. I mean I will for maybe a few minutes… A few hours… A few days…. But that madness, and the absurd validity of choice and it’s followers will always creep back into my mind. Through that hole in my head that has always been there. And however many times I might banish despair far from my thought. Despair will find its way into my head through that gaping hole of a wound. I want to plug it…. I’ve tried to plug it with drugs, with distraction, with fixation and with food but it always open back up. What I need is a glue, to close it shut, to keep it from opening up, Noah as I do needs something strong but versatile. Something to adapt to the everchanging conditions of my thought. Something new…. What that might be I fear I may know but again I can’t quite tell. I can figure and assume, but all that might really work is a guess. A step off the edge of knowledge. A leap into the arms of experience. Maybe…



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