Total Frustration. And It's Hardly Positive.

I need to say something.

ARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH.

OK. That didn't help.

I am frustrated about ... Everything. From A-Z. From my pain to my stress. From my mind to my heart. From my insanity to my sanity.

Either everything is giving me a fuck, or I am fucking everything. So let's start from A and then maybe I could work my way down to F, where I'll just be talking about fucking again.

I thought I had something substantial to document and to prove that I am even capable of passing tertiary education and making something of myself in the years to come.

Guess not.

All my toiling, blood sweat and tears, and hours and hours of glaring into the computer screen burning off godknowshowmany brain cells - went to a complete fucking waste. I am down to positively zero now and have lost all inspiration to even try and memorise lines and lines of meaningless garbage just so I can regurgitate it onto plain white paper sometime in the future.

And oh yes, my heart is filled again. No, it's not another retarded fucker who comes along just to have a little taste and then leaves when he's sick of your now bland flavour. My heart is full, because it was empty.

Huh?

Fuck yea, bitch. I'm gonna explain it now.

Everytime I clean my heart up from previous mutilation, I always seem to forget to close the door when I'm done. And things start to flow in, like dust over time, finding a shelter from the bitterness surrounding it. My heart is not filled with someone new, but rather Something new.
I have let my dreams and hopes of the future into it, and I have let them accumalate because they are just to sweet to erase and they guarantee me of some temporary sanity.

Dreams are like ecstasy - temporary happiness.

But as everything always does in my heart, it will turn sour. And no longer will it become the colourful wallpaper that lines the walls of your heart. It will turn a filthy green hue and form the texture of silt from a sewer and flow towards the door, pounding at it till it opens. And finally, the hinges will crack and the filth will slush out in an unstoppable flood.

And so now either my dreams have disappeared, or they give me a storm of worries to think about before I try to sleep. And it leads me to dictate the Chronicles of an Insomniac.

But as always, I realise in the end what causes the major degeneration of everything in my heart. Before, it used to be the hope of actually finding pure happiness with that certain someone. And now, it is the hope that I would find pure happiness with my future.

So, we've got it then. It's the dream of dreams. The dream that all of my dreams will come true.

And the bitch of all of this, is the fact that the future is never known. And all the soothsayers, astrologers, medicine men and the billions of people who claim to know what's coming - are clueless about the future.

That's why it's called future. You're not supposed to know.

It's the Fates' dirty little secret.

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