Dropping back down on meI want t

Here I am. Poetic. Lost. Unfound.

I look at myself and feel guilt, shame, pitiful. I want to just rid myself of all the excesses and baggage. I want to fly elsewhere, start over. Without all this.

I looked back at previous entries—I know that the past and the future is what all started all of this. That living in the present is what I had ignored. But there\’s this moment of pain as I look back. Was it really just all the same? Was it that I captured the moments of sorrow and despair? Was it that I was so insecure?

I am bumbling and bumbling. It feels like a knife is being inserted in me—being pulled in and out. It\’s smarting. It\’s hurting. But there\’s this pleasure—masochism. It\’s through this pain that I almost feel something.