Red Sparrows

Maybe I was oversensitive; maybe I did over-react. Maybe I should've stayed, but I thought it best to walk away. Your approach did not sit well with me at all; don't get me wrong, I am greatly indebted to you, but I do have limits, silly as my principled threshold may seem to you. Your justification did no favours; Where you are from does not define who you are, but what you do goes to great lengths. And your defense? Comparing me to some shit two-bit fucker; am I that low in your esteemed estimation? You lower me to a tier beneath your shoe, and I am expected to understand. I'd have tossed your goddamned shoes halfway across the goddamned planet, only to have you hit me in the face with another one. And so I suppose my face deserves to be beaten black and blue, to blend in with the dirt streaking my cheeks. Alteast my shame will over-shadow my pride for all to see.

Someday, I'll stuff myself in a spare cigarette box, and let my light snuff itself out. We're all on that path anyways, treading day by day, optionally oblivious to the moment we trip into our final stupor, the day we will cower in blind fear, without even ourselves to light us. My light may be gone, but every ounce of pain, anguish and grief I have ever caused, with or without reason, will fade. An ideological man such I should be swept away for good. I may mean nothing but the best, but my delivery is severely lacking, and so it may as well appear for naught. A caterpillar cocoons itself in its ugliness, only to emerge as a soft-winged, astounding butterfly. Where do we go when we are hideous? There's only so many places we can hide ourselves. We only always leave uglier than that last instance. All this material presentation wilts in the face of what we wrought into and of ourselves. I wish I was destined for a life of obscurity, a withering wick instead of a bright spark. Maybe then I'd find peace, before and within my last moments. Everything I have found beautiful and worthwhile, every pursuit of enlightenment neglected for some solace, some silent harmony. No illuminatory misconceptions.

I speak of simplicity, and yet my penchant for complication has dragged me this far in a rambling tirade to a conclusion most desirable, yet most untenable. Life is a thankless, unappreciable swagger, and we're all stuck in a cycle, yesterday's dirty laundry tossed in with God's favourite detergent, Time.

Isn't it great to find that you're really worth nothing?

And how safe it is to feel safe...

So drown me if you can, or maybe we could just have conversation...

It seems we thrive on day-old hate. Mine doesn't last beyond an hour, before it is turned inwards, into some force consuming my conscience, my will, my life, my soul. May some force snap me in half, as a gregarious child would a KitKat bar in public, and just as those chocolate wafers fly through the air in those dramatic advertisements, I wish a crimson arc to splatter against white walls, in one last vain hope of feigning significance, of something absolutely worthless to remember my by. With everything inside me smeared plain for all to see, maybe I'll be granted redemption, and be allowed to slip through time's greedy fingers to finally be lost to these conquests that are ultimately as worthless as every second I've just spent putting pen to paper.

Forgive me for all I've done, am doing, and unfortunately will do. Whether you believe in God or not, I wish he sees the brilliance in all of you I so disgracefully discard, and gives you the grace of his protection, and fully satisfyingly full life. I should stop now. Enough Aimless rambling.