fucked up at a waffle house

fucked up at a waffle house, i reached a breaking point at 1 am the other night. having stifled through revelations that made me panic, i excused myself to the restroom amidst an angry world accusing me of all the wrongs i’ve done. i shudder at the distance that has grown between my family and i; and how the distance has grown between myself and i just as swell. seemingly alright with these exchanges, i departed to a bed of needles and coping mechanisms, chipping away at my brain. the same brain that causes me pain, the same brain that lacks sanity, the same brain that has undertaken the responsibility to go through this life seething at any opportunity to get vengeance for the happenings of my youth. what a bore it is to be held in the same gaze as the devil was by the gaze of god? condemning and justified... i muster a cry that breaks me further... and accept that no one will know me better if i never attempt to know myself better first. suppress all the thoughts in my head. good riddance to the emotions that fled out of my mouth like a river that went south—and with open arms that sink like the world—i’ll chip away at my identity, becoming a fragment of vitality, and attempting to exist in a new realm. one uninhabited. one uninhibited. one within me.