Dividends of the Psyche, Matters of the Heart.
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4.13.2012 || 11:33 PM
Here I am.
This absence of inspiration is my last dollar in my wallet, my one and only coin.
Not magnificent, though not boring. Every corner of my mind's eye sees some form of graspable hope.
Blah, blah, blah. The pathological optimist, serial monogamist, habitual thought producer & idea machine. My dreams are as large as my hair, yet cloudy as my empty fish bowl.
I continuously experience tragedy, but can't find it within myself to stop believing that I'm chosen for something. To suffer? Perhaps.
I'm rarely ever loved as I should be. But to ask my heart today how it doubles in size at the mere thought of my ability to love...
Orgasmic cognition, to say the least.
Yet all I could come up with for a pictoral representation of who I am at this very moment was this forced, hackneyed smirk.
I know what I'm missing, but I can't find it. I've tried. I'm exhausted upstairs
*taps temple for effect* and forcing things has always felt like an obvious form of sabotage, to me. I'm well used to the abstinence, the "no, thank you's" and countless eves of solitude... But, now my mind isn't even compensating for what I can't feel. What to do?