this is getting old

what people said was never louder than the dialogue that colored my mind. it is always there. it always speaks without making a sound but somehow it is the very propellant of my person. racing vibrancy, and sometimes a cloaked fog. always strung together in a peculiar timeline that has no regard for what i actually live, experience. constantly, the sacred parts of my mind grapple with the cavernous emptiness, the wastelands of lethargy. from the blackouts of unconsciousness i shred my way out. not a bone in my body is left in peace in this battle for rest every joint, muscle, and fiber is worn to exhaustion. at night I do not dream. things happen that would bring God to tears, yet i feel nothing. what can i do? I was also fed the subtle line, "That's just Life and Life isn't fair." and so i let life happen to me, like a sheep falling in line, trusting blindly. so deaf and numb to my own conscience. conditioned for mediocrity, conditioned to look away playing a game of pretend. anger and acceptance and refining and knowing myself are things that hurt.  life isn't simple. yet it is good.