quiet simmering rage..

What is the source of this?
A feeling.. an impression from unknown origins..
But my instincts never lie to me.. and I always end up wishing I had listened to them in the end.
I quietly deny them again and again..
And I pay for that indulgence.. the brief reprieve.. again and again.
But I want to be wrong.
I allow myself the wishful thought of self deceptions, but know full well the price I will pay in the end.
Ignorance is perhaps truly bliss..
If only I were capable.

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the depths of dementia

entangled and intertwined, our lives do not exist in a vacuum. though i suppose some almost do, most are absolutely defined by being entwined. sometimes it is only through the fragments of memory that we so desperately cling to, that our lives have any meaning at all, because with out the yin, the yang means nothing and ceases to exist, reverting to nothingness.
but if nothingness is the source of all things, then that is the only pure perspective, being outside the realm of what is commonly considered reality.. it exists free of interpretation or the coloring of interaction..

conflict

i'm tired of biting my tongue..
though i suppose it is better than escalating a problem or sabotaging a friendship
the unifying truth seems to be that there is no profit or gain in honesty aside from your own peace of mind.. but how much peace of mind can you have as you slip into poverty?
why continue in the path of righteousness if no one is left who cares?
for me.
call it selfish if you must, but i do it for me.