Layers of madness

I live in endless cycles of building up and distruction. I'm so tired from my mind getting in the way of my every little action. I get obsessed over the most minute detail and can only let go after having beautified and perfected things, when all I need to do, is earn the fucking money. Not to mention the gnawing fear of when will something come from outside and knack the whole thing down. If it doesn't happen, then I myself might do it, like history has proven. Cycles of repeated traumatic scenarios, with new added ones, almost on a regular basis lately. The priorities are not right in my head, the traumas are crippling my very move. It doesn't suffice that I'm aware and conscious, it's not being enough that I see, process, acknowledge, accept. There's still the most important phase, the final release, through which any hope of healing can happen, but I haven't yet fathomed how to do it. 

Everything inside of me is longing for the embrace that would make me feel safe and warm, just a little break, just a little reward to my weary mind, just a little pause, then another push. I can then make it, the forced loving pausing touch will help me achieve that. The slowing down, the pull of the bow, the stepping stone. A breath of oxygen, and an exchange of reigns of leadership. 

In-Sanity is a most fitting title indeed. Someone get me out of here. Either that, or get inside my head with me for a little while!

She might have been the biggest drug of my life, and I am suffering from the withdrawals still. 

Gimme gimme gimme, mine mine mine, that's how the world goes, and how humans seems to do it, and I'm supposed to survive when all I am is give give give, yours yours yours, and have become so fucked up that I can't even take what's already mine. 

New people owe me more money, how is that even possible, what kind of retards am I!?! 

I'm starting from square one again, working my way up in the business, nobody cares about my stupid creations, but in a battle between mind and money, where I seem to almost always lose the money, at least making things is keeping my hands busy and distracted, and the mind briefly at bay, and temporarily safe from going gung ho mad. 

A farewell march

My body was the temporary property of my big man penetrating me really good and really deep last night. 

My heart was owned by my daughter's hands since her heart was formed inside of me. She would pull the cords as she pleased, but then one day she let it slip away from between her buttery fingers.

My mind has been tinkered with by all the men who broke my heart time and again, and all the women who just wouldn't care. 

I am both here, and there. 

I'm inside my body, and outside of it too. 

I am being done to, but I'm watching it being done too. 

After the pleading has long ago ended, there remained the bleeding. Now it stopped and is drying up, leaving behind the most deepest scars. 

"I've made it here!", they shout loudly, proudly. But I count the days until I'm here no more.

The day all earthly actions and sounds will cease to exist, once and for all. 

No more humping, no more thumping, no more drumming, no more humming, no more him's, no more hymns... or lullabies.

Only just a farewell march.