I’m not waving, I’m drowning

They stuff large quantities of food in their gaping mouths, jamming it in without thought. Continuing on like the entitled, pampered, spoon-fed children they never grew out of. These people, these overgrown self-important animals with unwarranted pretentious confidence, and egos unfit for the halos they borrow from the hat racks of the pragmatic. They have nothing, yet they have everything…so they think. They have the possessions and materials, same as their neighbors. Constantly thriving to stay ahead of the next person in this crumbling world of MORE. They have fancy degrees, and the security that comes from heartless overpaying jobs. They socialize with friends that don’t know their last names. Nonchalantly raising glasses in hipster bars, becoming the best of friends over a few overpriced pints and a couple of ‘likes’. No one sees how alone we ALL are. Fooled by the internet and social media, fooled by parents and peers, fooled by good ol’ fashion America. Blinded by alcohol, profound extroverts, one arm hugs and phantom handshakes. Crippled by America’s delusional fairy tale of happiness, and the maliciously masked fear that they’ve created to keep the masses loyal and obedient.

Here I go again…a rambling lunatic acting as if I’m some superior being, like I have any clue of whatever the fuck it is I’m preaching about. Trudging along aimlessly, thinking I’m better than all. Flexing my uneducated frontal lobe, unaltered, unbridled, unidentifiable. All I do is judge, judge, then judge some more. The more I dissect and observe the human race, the more I learn. The more I feel I just might be able to fix myself. By learning how not to act, how not to be, or how I believe I shouldn’t act or be. Which just so happens to be the opposite of existence, unparalleled from the rest of the world. In the end, the only thing that’ll define me will be my stubborn individuality, or my endless search for it. Who am I anyway? If not a sober judgmental prick, on a mission to be better than everyone without ever doing a damn thing. I watch the naive have fun from the shadows, judge them for it, then aggressively write my thoughts with ashes from the overdosed departed. I suppose I’m vaguely entertained by it all, but it gets me absolutely nowhere. While the rest of the world is living their lives, enjoying themselves with ignorant smiles as they harbor their unknowing denial–I petulantly hide in my cell, inside this odious rooming house I call home. Losing sleep and scrapbooking photoshopped self-portraits, mapping out the timeline of my well deserved woeful loneliness. A Kodachrome dream of spurious memories, but the real story lies just outside the frame…I can’t see it from this pedestal. Heavy is the head that wears the frown…


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