monologue

I could sleep right now. Take notice of this life - account for all the effort I've spent, how all that's strived for goes by unseen. Take it all in and realize that it's all taken away.

I have no friends to hear me; some think they do, but they pick out the pieces that benefit them - seeing only the parts of me they think they own. I'm valued in small ways, for the lies I put forth. I do the same... seeing myself in others, rather than seeing them, but I know this, and think I could learn - if someone found me first.

It's all the same. Whether you make yourself in meeting your desires, find your value in holding to or breaking your rules, strive for something more or strive to find something more... whoever or whatever you are, you're wasted. You've already found your truth, you already know your answers - I don't even know myself, so why read me?

Someday, I'll find a slumber that ends this. In everything I do, my hands come up empty, and when I sleep, I'll lose my grasp anyway. Now or then, it's the same end, and the only difference is the time I wasted while trying to stay awake. I'm so tired, and striving toward claiming my sleep seems the only action that will prove fruitful.

Try to find a way home, try to find a reason to go home, and failing both, stop trying.