Social creatures by nature wish to be social.
But what happens when a being goes against his genetic make up?
I feel like I hate humans, or something of the sort.
I find my self picking random fights with message board members,
Over shit I don’t even really give a fuck about anymore.
Or maybe it’s because I still do care that I feel the need to defend and offend.
Have you ever sighed instead of talking?
Its like you’re breathing out any sort of sense,
And breathing in apathy.

Fatigue is one of those things I never really experienced.
Now, I wake up tired, desperate for something to grab on to.
However, I awaken to fistfuls of nothingness.
Yet somehow, mental leverage hoist’s my corpse out of bed each morn.
I feel like I’m going through the motions in everything I do.
I can feel your lips. I can smell your breath. But I don’t think its real.
Real in the sense of consciousness. I’m aware of my awareness.
The sense of self tells me I’m not him. I call him a liar.
But I know I’m right about him who is me. Great, now I’m in the third person.

Words are nothing more than letters given a purpose.
What is my purpose? Can I arrange it so?
Or can I only interpret reflections of my own existence.
Much like a record player, I go round and round.
However, there’s no diamond tipped genius to figure me out.
I too, wear thin, like the grooves of the groove.
One for the devil, two for hard times. And no, you don’t get a tip.
I keep trying to drown my self in sedated relief.
But sleep wont come to those who are restless.
Insomnia in my dreams, napping because I just woke up.