Desolate

Day 2

Another dismal day that does not bear the remotest significance to my dreams, my 'ambitions'. He words me, girls. He words me. It is damning how the absence of work and the plethora of the same distorts my mind almost as easily. Do I need more of the former, or the latter? Will I ever regain the semblance of sanity once again?

The mundanity, the routine stifles me, that vapidity. When shall I tear myself away from the gossamer threads of life? Everyday, I manage contrivances, and let contrivances manage me. It's a maelstrom out there, and my mind along with it. I'm not sure where reality begins and ends anymore. Or for that matter, I'm not even sure where my sanity begins or ends either. There is a pain in my chest, a dull throbbing kind of pain that runs across my chest. The normalcy of life is a malady. Death is the medicine, it seems.

His cold, skeletal hand beckons me, as always, and I am swept away by his good looks. If ever I could be like him, the same charming gaze, the same cold stare that bespeaks an emotionless soul. If ever I could be like him. This is the desolate world.