I need out. I'm fucking trapped here and i just need to get out. Run. The problem is that I'm always going in circles, but each time it gets smaller, closer to home. I can't do it anymore. The only person that I want to tell is the ony person I can't tell; I don't want it to come between us like something cold. You don't see it but every conversation weaves its way around it, dipping and ducking, and one day there's not going to be anything else. Nothing left. It's so awful.
We get so mismatched, so coarse, that it's hard to imagine ourselves as another - but sooner than you'd expect it all comes crashing down; everything tangible brings you down and the unknown just envelopes it. Losing yourself doesnt seem like such a bad idea. Trade yourself in, buy yourself a chance to be someone else. You'll lose that too, with leadening conciousness as reality returns. Spinning, falling. Crushing. Soon enough you cant take it anymore. So you do it again. Escape from something you're creating. Escape from the monster when the monster is you. You can't hold on to yourself.
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