It can’t be 11PM. It cannot be that late. I only have felt the rush of motivation in the last two hours. Why am I like this? Am I sabotaging something that wants to be destroyed?

Rip and tear. What a comfort of what has not been there. The absent has always haunted me. I cannot relish in slumber until I subtly destroy myself. Annihilation comes closer to that which I have coveted; the huge, the incomprehensible. Spread beyond your periphery; something that cannot fester within minutia or detail. I was never good at organization because I begged for that which cannot be categorized. A form, a shape that inhabits all but does not service the pretention of lack. I can say that I am within you, and you are within me but what can something shift when it inhabits all.

I long for the days of gigantic shapes invading my miniscule conception of what can be. Stare in awe while gripped by terror. This is not a service of validation or inevitable prophecy; but a chance to glimpse at the reality of our own perception. I do not operate in the anti-matter of lack, I do not believe in a substance that is only provoked to destroy. I cannot believe how much time I have wasted.

I can give you something. I am of value. What I offer does not compare to the others. I do not give weakness to pervade into the treasure you have cultivated. I have grown my own garden, and invite you to attend. What differentiates me is my purity; my lack of immorality or manipulation. I am influenced by the ringing in my ears, the song of the sun. I am guided by the tremors in my wrists that give way to innovation. Why I tremor is not important.

Why I scream is not worthy of discussion. Shut the door and allow me to wallow in my own revelation. Please don’t kick me out.

Please don’t leave me. I am a beacon of light and shine along the shore. I am not a lighthouse to illuminate the shore to safety, I focus on the edges. The sharp departure you feel crawling into your lungs while you sink and curse the second for its indulgence. You long for brevity, while I am too sad to let you go.

Don’t go. This is a cry for help. This is a desperate attempt to shine your darkness upon me, to tell me everything is going to be ok. It’s almost 11:30.

I never promised this. I gave you my word that I will suffer, and that I will ask you to suffer with me. The loneliness of desperation is too weak to consume two. I cannot handle this alone.

Is that why you have forsaken me? To dwell among the rubble of the house I have destroyed? What could I have said to warn you of the utter collapse? My disposition should have been enough; why do you expect a fish to fly among the geese?

Enough with these self-centered thoughts. I have given myself a runway of excuses and false deals, only to land upon shattered ground. My depression seems endless, but is recursive like the lines I draw when I look into the mirror. What compels me to throw away the life-giving, the ones who will help?

It is because I am among gods. This coil of wires and deprecation have fastened me to greatness. How much have I depreciated? I have only become more valuable. More rare, lonely among the incompetent. I am great, I am the one who bends the will of man. I am immortal.

This incoherent racket is what keeps me glued to the ground. It is what keeps me sane. The void I feel when I want to end it all is only off-set by the immense power I feel when I overcome the most banal of efforts. It’s 11:30.

It can’t be that late. I refuse the linear flow of time, so I have transcended its boundaries. This clock is wrong, it propagates lies. I am the one truth, I am the one who bends those to my will. My will is perfect, it is justified.

What cocksucking whore will give me the ability to annihilate that wretched cunt? So many have had such lackluster experience that I question their value. If God themselves extinguished your existence would there be a funeral? Not of those who tether themselves to a rotting corpse but the souls who attend, who do not participate in the ecstasy of what they earned? To settle for the horror of life for a few seconds to send you off? To greet you among the blob of what you miss? Heaven does not accept non-committals. It does not take half measures. What is Heaven without suffering? What is Heaven without suffering with those who put you through it.

It’s 11:37.