I feel so stupid sometimes.
I try so hard to make everything turn out perfectly,
that everything just ends up so very messed up.
It's all an illusion.
Is this really all we're in for?
This bit of emotional highway,
scorched and broken from years of abuse and traffic,
so very abruptly,
at our deaths?
I don't ever intend to die.
So, I quit my job,
to seek a higher existence,
one not so caught up in formalities,
and rituals of waking and working and sleeping and eating.
I chose, and it was my own choice,
that I began to lose all senient thought,
get out before they take my free will,
and my sense of all things imagination.
I will be free,
and if you decide you do not want me then,
then so be it.
But I will live,
with you, without you,
even though they are both very different things,
I will live.