Reality Check
...rving artist drained of any worldly talent. I'm a stowaway, nowhere to go when it starts hailing fire. Oddly enough, I do have parents. The question is, do they remember the daughter they never prepared for this bullshit world. Luck is now mocking me. Everything is slipping helplessly out of my grasp. But it used to be so good! I used to have something I was so sure no one else could touch. Liberation. Slowly intoxicating my sense of how screwed I really was. I was so high off this freedom I had worked myself into the ground. As if it weren't bad enough I chose the isolation of reality over the nuturing cage that was my comfort zone. Now things were getting complicated. I was surrounded by death, poverty, foul and fake people, the apacaylpse itself! I was alone and cold, losing sight of all that was keeping me in this desolate mirage. My sanity, as well as my trust for people and circumstance, faded like an old photograph. I was alone, malnurished, diseased. A stray dog in a big heartless town. That's when the voices started. First a pain-staking moan, then an uproar of noise, confusion. How do you walk away from the chaos of your own mind? You can't! So I replied to these voices, listened, befriended my own delusions. I soon became blind and bitter. Taught to hate by my own hand. All was gone, no compassion. Endless days of staring at the unyielding wall. How I hated those walls. White everywhere. But everything grew blacker. I became mor...