We ARE kings.


What's the endgame, as my fantasies and delusions crumble around me in a sea of regret and shame, when there's nothing past my pleasant hallucinations to give me hope that things may someday change? There is no endgame, and everything has changed, but I don't get to see it. My fantasy, my delusion, is my prison, and there is no escape when you've given up on the real world.

"Hatred is thy sword, and contempt is thy shield"
"The fire inside me burned brighter than the fire outside"
One step foward, five steps back. Death is preferable.
Reality is the only prison worth breaking out of.
I never asked for this.

At the end of the day, week, month, year, and probably life, you truly are nothing but alone. You, the earth under your feet, and the stars above that you can't see. The stars I can't see either. Goodbye, time I spent in 2017. And, sorry. I've messed up.
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