• Upon the weariness I find while resting in the corner of the light filling the room, again that description, that interesting yet puzzling description of what has been used to describe my person, haunt me as darkness fills my eyes. I have not become blind, but I see nothing as clear as I should. So much flies above me that I miss and then am mocked of because of such simple expectations. I blame this upon the illness that has been drilled to my conscious, however the more I think about it, the worse it becomes. True I am not mentally disabled, I am not physically either…it is just the ways that I see what is around me. My attention varies from what benefits my sight, which shall explain the idea that I always look down, as if either bowing or submitting, when someone is speaking. As much as I wish to gaze upon the speakers eyes and meet their gaze with understanding, I am afraid that it is not possible, so speaks this illness of mine.

    So many questions, so little answers, how cliché that this speaks to my heart. What is different is the same, and what is normal is truthfully not. That is how the cogs in my mind turn and move, in their own unique and rusty music. The antiques of my thoughts venture off of what my understanding should be. I have been told before that I am a philosopher, but I claim to say that the assumption of this is a LIE. I am not intelligent under any circumstance as many would see me as, I merely color the darkness of this secret with my ways of speaking and my social being. This however cannot hide all of my thoughts, for when the friends, the enemies, and the loved ones rest in their comfortable and soundless dreams…I stay awake, throughout the night gazing at the moon, as the madness of my mind reaches out and scars my every being…the next morning I should easily find myself in the comfort of my bed, covered with scratches as the event plays like a movie in my mind, for as much as I am in no predicament to be sane, I can still witness the horrors of what is bestowed upon me as my inner sin takes control of me…tormenting my desires and thoughts with that of mere reality which I already wish, was merely a reverie…a nightmare if you please.

    A tortured Genius, she speaks. This is how she sees me, I do not, and shall not debate on her words for even as I stand here, understanding what her true intentions may be…I can still feel the love for her that I was blessed with, even with her, walking with another. I am no longer envious of that man, who takes the angel away from her cloud, he is protective and stable, when I am but one of the two…I am protective, I am loyal…or so I wish to see myself as such…I can be depended on…or so I wish to hope my friends can see…I am…a coward…is also another idea that I must confess…for as much as I say that I can be strong…I am truthfully weak and easily broken…I am not a strong shield even though there are many to differ such preposterous ideas…however I still see myself, constantly saying that there is no way on earth, that I could not be…a coward.

    A tortured genius, tempered with by god as he continued to let these sins devour me…OH HEAVENLY FATHER OF MERCY I PRAY! WHY MUST THY GRACE THROW SUCH DISTASTE TO MY BEING? I ASK THIS TO THE LORD…but the lord does not answer…for he has Forbid me of his heavenly light…he has denied me of my salvation…which gives me more of a reason to keep living with such evils, to ROT on this planet of fire and flame, THIS HELL ON EARTH!...

    I sit in the corner, all covered in rags, in the room of what was my home…now old and worn and boards broken from age…as I remain sitting, alone in the corner…my clothes have gathered dust, and my eyes continue to stare…as much as I am blind…I can see…quite…clear…