by marmaladescreams

Often I have a strange longing for misery. Not that drama-misery I usually yearn for; the one that makes sense, the one that people understand brings pain. No… But the one I’m used to, the one I’ve adapted to. It’s safe there in that low. A familiar comfort in the midst of life’s battles. Though on the brink of insanity. A dangerous balance in uncertainty. A fogged clarity.
And should I go on and on… Filling empty spaces. Putting words in the blanks. Searching meaning, loosing religions. Loving, hating, not feeling. Struggling, being high on life. The endless knowing – that’s what’s wrong. That is what’s keeping me here.