I have to read other's journals for their dreams, because I don't have any of my own.
...Guns N' Roses said it best, then. 'Vicarious existance is a fuckin' waste of time.' (forget the song)
I still have my imagination, but it's slowly being veiled by an emotion that I know I don't like. Several, perhaps, but I'm only sure of the one.
But... for one brief, maybe even happy moment... last night I was surrounded by wings.
Not the pristine, glowing white of the Euro-depicted angels of heaven. No, I'm strangely not into white wings. These were a shadowy gray, soft... And for that moment, I felt... okay.
Feeling okay is a rare phenomenon for me, even on my best days.
Feeling okay means no matter what, I don't have to constantly worry, because everything will work out.
Feeling okay... is okay.
I wish I could have seen who they belonged to, even if the logical cause states they were a figment of my own imagination. I'd like to thank them... for the moment in time.
I'm wondering if this is what it's like to go insane.
...like I can go insane. How can you go to a place you already live in anyway? Only difference now is the masks are cracking. I can see the fine lines in the surface.
Pheh... I need a drug to keep the surface smooth. Pretty much saying I need a drug to keep the mask in play.
I see a porcelain harlequin mask, tied in the back with a string of pills.
...this line of thought is depressing me. I think I'll go play neopets or something now.
Escapism... sometimes it's all I can accomplish.
