PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There doesn't seem to be much room for writing.



You'd probably tell me that I have plenty of free time, and you're probably right. Though I feel essentially robbed of all creative energy, and productive energy, I could still throw down and generate some good results from time to time. It'd help if somebody cared, even if that somebody was me. It'd be refreshing to leave for weeks upon weeks, and allow so many unfamiliar sights to entrance me. But I'm not old enough to have such options. And now that I have money of my own, that I earned with my own two hands, I feel so much worse. Now that I'm being forced to transform into an adult, the world costs a hell of a lot more, and the rewards don't seem anywhere near as sweet. Is this what it means to come into maturity?



I can't say anything that I haven't said before. That is what makes everything seem so repetitive. I have fallen into eternal loop. Shifting in a circular pattern from unhappiness, to anger, to self loathing, to boredom. All these things that used to distract me from what really mattered have began directing my attention where it never belonged. I feel responsible for something now, and it makes me fucking sick.



I feel no sense of identity unless I'm playing an online role-playing game, where I create a prosthetic lifeform and allow him to live a life full of purpose and direction. Even my beloved fighting games can't give me that. While inside this imaginary world, I can interact freely. Making friends, meeting enemies and fighting my own battles. I feel no need to succeed in order to be accepted. I feel no alienation because I see nothing in my future. And by now, the lack of senses involved with such an experience don't matter. All I smell is a school full of rushing and tense students forced there by law, all I hear is the clanging of dishes and pots in the dishroom as assorted voices blend fiercely, and all I ever touch is a steering wheel, the occasional shoulder and a small piece of plastic and wire. Where's the meaning? The meaning is buried underneath the bullshit.



And these choices that I've made I take full responsibility for. I miss the touch and the smell and the feelings I used to have, and the gaze that would return to mine, from so many people.



All I can ever do anymore is tell you how it all went wrong.