Something Happened Along The Way

I tend to default to thinking that it is my fault, but the reverse of that coin is that it is usually the case.

But what I think does not signify.

I get tired of being wrong. I get tired of being wrong when I am right. And yet, I am still wrong.

So, in the end I will distract myself with words belonging to others who most surely tell no lies, or music which will tell only truths. At times there will be the loudness of one while consuming the silence of the other. There is no fear of the dark, but merely the ominous presence of the silence of the world allowing the workings of the mind to gather steam and forge ahead into the abyss once more.

Digging up bones, ghosts, and empties. Nothing like sitting with the ghosts of the past drinking the spirits they bring to the game, while gnawing on the bones of past decisions and actions. And while the past no longer exists, you feel every scar that the past left on you. The sympathy you feel for others who were victims to your deeds, and the pity for yourself knowing the selfishness you exhibited in your hubris. 

I had always hoped I was not that person, but as I said: It is my own fault.