My will is breaking. All I hear is sound. In creation, there is the destruction of the mind to become aware of oneself. My current obsession with the differences within sex, within what creates, and what was created, is it but a mere useless, and worthless thought? Confusion and frustration- two things between the lines- between the lines of something real like anger and certainty. I am asked if I care, what do I care about, such a mundane answer can only be given to such a mundane question. How can one care about others, who not cares about their own life? But to care about their life, are busy caring about their life, that others only fit in with a disingenuous routine.
I will not limit myself, nor will I raise myself up, for I am extremely susceptible, like all, to grandiosity, so lowering myself to the floor, has proved humble to me. Thoughts of destroying myself, the nightmares, the mental anguish, they keep me grounded, and they remind me that my creation was to sin, and to be aware of it, a punishment in itself. I am thus reduced to the categories in which were placed upon me before the womb; I am lifeless- genuine not, in my nothingness, in my place, in how the reality of change in others, perhaps, is so unattainable, and should not be sought after.