Far beyond any kind of senses. I feel broken and crumbled, yet somehow still floating, air collapsing as it escapes my lungs. I still smile as the world tired world tilts the salt in my eyelids.
In spite of all the pain and torment, I'm so fucking happy. Like looking death in the face and grinning, I'm somehow at peace with my current state even thou it beckons me to the very limits of my existence. And in turn, I have become much darker, much angrier for the happiness I've been given. The sense of sorrow and - dare I say? - mercy I once possessed have now fallen, like a children?s garment they have grown tired of and discarded.
I beg for comfort, wanting nothing more than to understand this disregard. Reality lies, as it does, but it's nearly impossible to keep up to the pace lately. I'm running as fast as I can just to make sure I can stay standing in this very spot. It's all so confusing and frustrating, so much so that I can't stop laughing.
So the only real question to ask is; are men such as myself meant to be happy? Floating up here in the ether? Should we, when one such as myself only becomes more hateful, indulgent, arrogant, when at peace? When one's mind becomes clear enough to be intoxicated by ones senses again? Do I deserve to stand here and let others fall?
Perhaps these questions shouldn't be mine to ponder. Mostly because I couldn't really give a fly fuck either way.
Just let me go back to flying, dreaming. To be in such lust with my pain, I'm happier when I never feel awake.