Placebo

Where am I? Within myself, I mean. Every day, I go about. The social me, the nu,mb me. Don’t care if I meet anyone, don’t care if I don’t. All that matters is that im not bored

That was just a dream
To cry
Die
Why?
Just a dream.
Just a dream?

Where have I gone to within myself? I’ve become too… lethargic, too preoccupied for introspection. When introspection does come, it comes in fits of forced jumbles that I wrangle into shape, into coherence.

That’s me in the corner,
that’s me in the spot light
losing my religion

My life right now, I realize, is simply a placebo. A God Damned fucking fucked up placebo that does nothing but buy time. At first I thought it was just numbness while I was healing myself- on the inside. After the hurricane.

But I’ve lost myself. Where am I now? I’ve gone from being introspective, philosophical, and occasionally brilliant, to simply bored, ineffectual, and mundane. About a month ago, whule I was at home, I read through an old notebook and incidentally fell upon a written conversation with a friend. I realized that I was so much more insightful back then than I am now.

I am now so jaded, and have become half of what I was afraid of becoming.
But then, things no longer hurt. My life is no longer going the wrong way. Instead, it runs directionless. Mediocre Magnitude coupled with nondirection.
And then I realize, that is exactly what I have become, mediocre.

I am not developing, I am not learning. I am not motivated, I am not thirsty. I am simply numb.

My life right now is a placebo. It is ineffectual. I am not me. All that ranting and fucked up bullshit about that shitty road that does not fucking exist is nothing but bullshit. There is no road, there is no me, there are no rivers or ravines.

There simply is.

My mind is blank, again. Where does all the fire go right when I try to harness it? Why does it slip through my fingers like water evading the cupped hands of a desertfarer. There are no roads in the desert- there never were. But I found my way once, guided by belief and fueled by naiveté. The stars always have been there to guide me, but I’m too blind to see them now.

Where is my muse? Vacationing in Bermuda? Where is my spirit? Surely there is more to life than endless music, porn, and sheeshah?

My insides are hollow, where once they were hallowed. They say that Jibrael washed the inside of the Prophet’s torso with zamzam before he went on mairage. Can I have a little too? But that again would be a placebo, would it not? After all, what use is it, washing an empty vessel?

My insecurities, all the confidence issues are still there. I simply want too much. While I am quite good at nearly everything I do, I am exceptional at nothing. At the end of the day, just being good doesn’t win. So, I dub myself ineffectual. All my victories, all my achievements, while some achieved despite circumstance are usually the result of circumstance. Yes, God, you have been most gracious. But couldn’t you at least made me to have deserved them?

My demons will remain, because I will never be strong enough to face them, and that shall be the story of my life. A story of broken flight upon unbroken wings bearing a semishattered spirit.

I’m hurting right now, so I guess I’m doing something right.