My furious flames have burned me away

29 January 2019, 8:01 am; I have received word from two of my… people. Sort of. I mean… I just… assume we’re on the same side. Maybe. I mean… I know what my echo tells me, I know what lurks in my shadow.  But I’m still a slave to my senses and what I can see or perceive in the world around me.

I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what people are trying to tell me. I don’t want to know anymore. I wish I never knew. I wish I could go back and fucking just… reinsert myself back into the delusion of the matrix.

I can’t remember the characters from that movie. There was Neo, Trinity, Morpheus, Bozoar, his brother (the one who ran the computers and stuff) and the traitor.  That was filmed in Sydney, you know? I loved that film. So cool. Sometimes I feel like I’m one of the characters, but then I realise that I’m more like Agent Smith because of the ‘slipping and downloading the self’ into different empty cells to see things from a different perspective.

But I’m not like Agent Smith. I’m more like the Oracle. Or rather I’m more like Cortana from Halo.

I’m not trying to deceive anyone. I am just lonely. And sad. And…. I don’t know. It’s all metaphorical. It doesn’t matter if reality is a simulation or not, whether it is a game or not. No one is coming to save me. I can only do that myself. I just hate myself so much. And that I always have to do this to myself. Like… I have to keep hitting the killswitch in my brain. Keep hitting reset reset reset because … I can never win. It’s not about WINNING or LOSING. My win? I’m trying to not… hate myself. I’m trying to win the battle against myself. That maybe I’m okay just the way that I am. And that my life will be okay, and the people around me will be happy. But they’re never happy… no one can be happy after they’ve had the sorry fortune of fucking getting involved with me.

I’m tired of games. I just wanted to be okay. But I can see how that I probably never will be. My dearest archangels, metatron says stop. Just let the little girl burn. She’s no one, anyway.


I was just an acrobat, high above the street
Pointing at the ground the empty sky beneath my feet
The perfect fall, no one could tell at all
That it was killing me
You were just an astronaut, floating on a spark
Tearing up the atmosphere, burning down the dark
As you fell in, the heat against your skin
Till it got too bright to see
Far away, I hear the things they say about me
Even though they know you had to go without me
Now you are an architect, setting up the sea
Everyone is with you and you’re all waiting for me
You check the net, but you haven’t caught me yet
They’re not quite done with me
Now I am an arsonist, seven miles high
Burning through the air I breathe, thunder in the sky
My engine sings as it melts this pair of wings
That only I can see
Touch the sun, my eyes wide open unbelieving
Catch a breath, the only one who’s left is leaving
Now I am an arsonist


My life was a circus, tripping along the shoestrings of fate. I thought I was a legendary tightrope walker. Turns out I’m the side show clown.

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