Written By Ervin

We seldom lose focus in life, and the directions we take are not always as navigational as they seem to appear. It is in our minds where reality truly takes place. The thoughts we keep to ourselves, the overwhelming desires, and even the jaunting voice in our heads, is where we seek our advice. It is the inner monologue that can't stop narrating every waking moment of our lives. Are we destined for a real future? Or do we just ponder into it, creating passionate goals we can never reach for as long as we have to reach them. Impossible is nothing, one might say, but we know better. In reality, we love to fail. We accept it and we await it. Never have we failed to set up a safety net for ourselves as we expect the worst. Failure was a seemingly daunting illusion, but it has become a susceptible reality within our dreams.

In the pandect of things, we are all insane. When was the last time anyone was ever real? When has any heartfelt emotion, whether it be love or pure hatred, when has it ever been real? Perhaps it is our mind that tricks us into believing we can feel. In a tangible world, we are all expected to feel the outburst of the emotional color spectrum. The vivid light that binds to our souls, flaring with red hatred and blue calmness. From the loathing brightness of the vast yellow to the eerie calamity of the greys, shading our lives away. The ruins and the caverns in our minds echo with grim laughter as we hide away forever.

What is but what has always been? A voice in our minds. A little tiny creature that we feed and care for. And sometimes, we starve. We crave its attention so we imbibe it, and strike it, and we hope that we get that attention that we've been tracing for so long. What if we want this? What if we force anger and hatred towards ourselves? Is there really such a thing as self control? Maybe there is. Maybe the little monster we've been raising inside of ourselves is really just a part of us we've neglected. Are we to believe this darker side of ourselves that has spawned has always been? That it has always existed? Is that what we're really looking for, our own selves? In the scoped surrounding of this frenzy, it is expected that a part of each and every person has occupied a dark corner in the mind. It tries to show itself by hinting at such relentless unplausable illusions as love. It tries to mock the host with a burning desire for want. We all want. We all crave the attention we never really deserve in the first place.

What is love anyway? It can be seen by many as a buildup of memories we enjoy. We like to love. We almost want it. It isn't until we have love that we realize the true meaning of the term. It doesn't exist, and it never will. It is but mere shreds of unrequited motive to be in the vacinity of something good. A person can never hold such a thing. It is too vast to be inundated whole. In reality the demon creeping in and out of our minds, the bad thoughts we supress, uses love. Love is a weapon. It has been designed to cause pain. A broken heart is nothing but a stab at an old memory we found attractive. In our minds we can bend and twist the emotional color spectrum to torture ourselves.

So we cry. We sit there and cry and loathe ourselves for distant losses. Is it at all possible that we like to feel? The idea of a perfect being, a godly figure of unmatchable power, is crossing the line. We like the feeling of vulnurability. When taken into consideration, it is our safety net. Our defense against failure. Failure is our shield against failure. What better way to protect than using the intrusion against itself. A broken shield of broken dreams. Heart shaped armor with tearful cracks running into itself. So we cry again. Hopeing that it can make us feel better. Hopeing to give ourselves the illusion that our sorrows can all be repented like we seem to write our sins away. When the truth comes out, we are all insane. We grieve over trials and tribulations we create. The depth of our minds has been a stored piece of our own puzzle for ages. We fail to see its outline. Love does not exist, it is the wisp of the outer reality. The truth of the matter is that reality exists only within the shell we call our minds. It can't be forgiven, only accepted. We are all insane.