Terminal Uniqueness?

Sometimes being unique is a very lonely, uphill self-battle. When you're drowning in the mediocrities constantly, its the random chaotic splurges of life thrown in the mix that finally make you feel alive. And then those are taken away also and you're left with this insatiable thirst of feeling like you have a pulse, a void of where that little bit of joy used to live in you.

 

What do you do when you need black and white and bright bold colors in a world defined by relative grays. When no matter whats expected of you, you still can't satisfy, you're always going to disappoint someone, and there's so little you can do about it. I'd love to run and scream and tell the world to f**k off. To send all their ideals and judgments to hell and to leave me alone. I just want to co-exist in this series of events we call a life and smile and laugh and cry when I want.

 

It's hard you know. To just let go. And just live. But it happens, somewhere out there lies the hope of reaching that utterly euphoric state of being satisfied. Just to the extent of saying you gave it your best for the day that just died and that's good enough. We are all so lost. No matter who or what and by nature we don't care for directions. But I don't mind wandering aimless right now. I'm tired of destinations and finish lines. I need some scenic routes in my life, and I'll keep my scars medals of honor. I am evil and heavenly and a friend and an enemy, and I will always be too good or not good enough. Too happy or too sad. And when this failed experiment is over with I'll be able to at least say it may of not been right, may of been selfish, may of been outright stupid. But it was honest. And I'll always have that.

 

And that's good enough for me.