Monologues with the wall

Twice I have tried now. Thirty minutes of crafting alien worlds. But nothing compares to the one I inhabit. Fantasy refuses to take shape, in order to clothe my naked truth in elegant garbs. So I meekly surrender to the inevitable. This does not, will not, must not make sense. Why should it? Too sure of myself. Too sure. Too much faith in the beauty of the magic, which surrounds me. When I am so sure of something that I joke about the unsure bits, then I am laughed on. Energy to believe is drawn from the purity of the beliefs themselves. Corrupt that and I am left with nothing. Give it all I have. Give till I have no more to claim as my own. Perhaps. I was not born a saint, and I have not signed the pact with the devil. Yet, I suffer the sound of my own voice. Unceasingly. Day and night, for endless eons. Distances and intervals fade away. Gnaw inside my heart and eat on my conscience. Madness has its benefits. It numbs me to mockery. Tell me. Do I have the right to any questions? No body read me the Miranda before giving me a brain. There is a world out there, and here is my hand. So? So indeed. I like to delude myself about things. About choices the heart is destined to make. Words are coming to my head in a jumble of coherence. I am fighting with reason to keep this as incoherent as I can. I am tired of listening. Tired of wanting. Trying to love myself. It is too much to ask. Again, again, again! Again? But what of the part, which crumpled in a heap of lifeless ash. True, ash does not burn. The cold winds of the next storm will blow the ash away and leave me fresh. To burn some more. After all there is always someone who needs the light more. A dark worthier than mine. Losing bits of me every time. Eroding me with falling rain. Dissolving me into nothingness.

This is me.

Bread and biscuits. Blank walls. Warmth from a machine. Hugh Jackman. Ashley Judd. Yes, exactly like you. Trust in the vaguest of the vague. An undying will to live. Fleeting sleep. Backed up against the wall. Promises. Searching for calm. The hangover. Must I? Can't give up now. Why not? No tears. That's strange. Resign. Flow. There are no boundaries, no limits. There is only the pure. Inside. Outside. Envelope me back to into my delusions. Wrap me up in falling rain. Dissolving me into nothingness.

This is me.