truth be told

the truth is that i haven't told the truth.

the truth is that the truth hurts.

i've made some bad decisions, i've made some bad calls, i've made some bad moves.

now i'm paying the price.

the price is all inside my head.

for the first time ever, i can only blame myself for all the terrible things i feel.

you can only play pretend for so long before realizing that there is, in fact, a real world that you have to deal with.

there's no use feeling misunderstood, there's no use wishing for someone to love me enough to take on my ghosts, there's no use lying in bed, my eyes wide open; wishing to wake up somewhere else.

i could easily spend my days holed up in my room, the black velvety curtains pulled tightly over the window. 

but why is it easier to do that than to be human ?

my house is like my head - a train station, chaotic, anarchic, 

a languorous fucked-up turbulent free-for-all 

is all it is.

and it makes me sad to see such a fantasy of mine crushed up into an infinite downfall of dull little shards of what i once thought was happiness. 

we're supposed to be living the life !

then why are we all so miserable ?

web of lies, 2010.