Pain Hours.

all my boys live in spain but the s is silent.

im okay without the okay

Woke Up Wishing I Wasn't Sentient

I am witness to the horror, the trembling fear of such commotion, lacking the emotions to convey the inner suffering I infer to, the horror of the unknown, of the known, even, of what is now known and lied unbeknownst until some days ago.

I am speaking of horror, I am speaking of sudden change of such magnitude that one would think it is fictional, movie-like, uncanny in nature; mature in the necrotic rite of its existence.

Literal thunder strike struck my life and turned it upside down, for what was suffering before now resides as comfortable living in retrospective, and how I wish I'd cherished it a second more, the hot, humid aberration I must endure a reflection of what I found a cold hell filled with bore and inaction. It was bliss; it was beautiful, it was what had been perhaps the peak of an unique feeling of self-production. I wish I'd held it tighter in my hands.

Perhaps I've grown bitter, perhaps life has grown bleak, only in my dreams can reside happiness within me, perhaps, I'm unaware, must push myself and remain as the standard of hope and glee betwixt the scene and the rawness.

I am witness to the horror, the trembling fear of such commotion, lacking the emotions to convey the inner suffering I infer to, the horror of the unknown, of the known, even, of what is now known and lied unbeknownst until some days ago.

I am speaking of horror, I am speaking of sudden change of such magnitude that one would think it is fictional, movie-like, uncanny in nature; mature in the necrotic rite of its existence.

Literal thunder strike struck my life and turned it upside down, for what was suffering before now resides as comfortable living in retrospective, and how I wish I'd cherished it a second more, the hot, humid aberration I must endure a reflection of what I found a cold hell filled with bore and inaction. It was bliss; it was beautiful, it was what had been perhaps the peak of an unique feeling of self-production. I wish I'd held it tighter in my hands.

Perhaps I've grown bitter, perhaps life has grown bleak, only in my dreams can reside happiness within me, perhaps, I'm unaware, must push myself and remain as the standard of hope and glee betwixt the scene and the rawness.

I remember those days I spent a couple weeks with no power because a lightning struck the converter and it was hell among the inclement heat, the pandemic poverty forcing me to fast for 24 hours because there was no food, and the boredom of not having anything to do but work out because I had no power

Those were the worst days of my life