ποΈπΎπͺ¦
I do not know anymore where the lines are drawn.
There was always an awareness of temporary purpose:self, but I don't know
I dislike presenting new instincts. I dislike the possibility that I am being tricked by my own mind. I know my mind flows in a logical path. I don't want to be a slave to the logic of hiding.
I hate that I am perceived. I want all the joy of existence without all the horrors of acceptable definitions.
I feel as if a shallow grave is the most perfect home. I want the cold wet dirt and the worms and the morning dew. I will sleep forever at peace there. I dream of a stream beside me.