Phantasm

How is it that I’ve went from knowing everything, to realizing that I know absolutely nothing… at all?

How long must this darkness persist? Are we constantly chasing after some fantasmagorie within ourselves? These are rhetorical, for I know there is no answer… I’d be a fool if I were to ask a question, I knew couldn’t be answered.

Yet, when I feel I’ve gotten there. I still feel, even then, it is not enough. And I unleash more darkness on myself, than is necessary. I do not like to pretend, or fool myself into believing in this false sense of security which presents itself now.

The sun shines outside of me, but within me, the moon haunts me with its mystery.

Although, as seductive as it may be… to live in the moment, I hate uncertainty.

Uncertainty is worse than death itself. This world is uncertain. At the same time, I am terrified… yet also angry.

Where is a tortured individual’s reprieve against this nonsense? People see my face, and do not see the suffering. Look into my eyes, it is there… why do you think I avert my gaze from others? Not only do I not wish for you to see that part of me—but also, I do not wish to see the darkness within you.

Shall I cling to more logical distraction? Illusions of materiality (I better work, that’ll numb it for a while).

I am ill.

And yet I know, that this is temporary.

All MOMENTS are temporary. I have not yet accepted this fact about life, that there is no yes or no. Yet, that illusion of a certainty is what keeps me going I suppose… that abstraction of a future that lives in a state of impossibility.

There is no past. There is no future. Only abstractions.

We are prisoners to now. I hate now. But for later nows, I will feel differently…

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