the TWENTY SEVENTH of OCTOBER, TWO THOUSAND and TWENTY.

i am so detached. i don't even recognise my fucking body.
i don't belong here. i am not here, not truly. my soul lives elsewhere, i know exactly where.
space and time doesn't feel real. not like this. it's like i have a fucking corrupt memory card.
but, here i am. sat, dangling my legs off the edge of eternity, my heart yearning to be with my soul.
i've never known such incongruity; myself, my body and the univese. if i slip, i know it'll all fall into place.
i'll be one with my true belonging. i'm scared. it's not attachment to this miserable existence,
rather just selfishness and narcissism and uncertainty. how could i be attached, when i am so far removed?
the entire universe is conspiring against me. i am certain of that, at least.
ever-growing isolation pushes me closer and closer to my boiling point.

i'm moved to tears. i'm not quite sure why. i don't cry much these days.
i think the totality, finality of my seclusion has finally smacked me round the face.
bestowed with the curse of being the observer, what a joyful life!

i'm flooded with impulsivity, insecurity. i really can't trust anyone.
everyone leaves in the end. i'm left with nothing. please don't fucking leave me
i wish i was fucking dead

take me back!