An old song exploited in a new commercial that I’ve never seen, but sometimes here from the television downstairs reminded me of an old Disney animation.

The reminder prompted me to come to the realization that he wasn’t whisked away by some vile temptress in the dark of the night while I was sleeping. No, we’re not in direct conflict.

I was never wanted.

He found her and chose that while I was still…begging. I know now, and it alters my perspective. It’s going to hurt for a long time…not to be wanted. It’s such a familiar wall that logic should prevail in strengthening my own resolve…but it doesn’t.

Each time, I’m rendered crushingly vulnerable. I’m exposed so that strangers tell me they know everything about who I am. Rape me then. I’m no stranger to this shit. As much as it hurts, and as difficult as it is to accept the futility of idle wishing for something different, change doesn’t come.

I can’t hope for it.

I can’t hope for it, and yet I have to keep seeking the shift into a nonexistent bliss. Tell me I don’t deserve it.

I want to say I’ve never been needed, but when I am…when I was; when I found myself both wanted and loved…

Well, this is no longer up for debate. It’s going to happen again and again. Maybe it will get increasingly intense so as not to break the pattern but break me. Keep breaking me, because I’m going to keep reaching. There’s so much shit out there with the underdog vying for that fucking “American Dream” and getting it; getting there; getting through. I just don’t fucking get it. I don’t even want it; what I want more than anything in the fucking world:

I honestly hope I never even come close.

I sell emptiness and trite fantasy, and I do an unconvincing job. I’m not up for sale at all, but you can buy into the debt if the delusion of change makes you happy.





The Mad Hatter slaps me, because I’m not a rabbit. Where’s Alice to ask, please: “What does it feel like to be happy?”

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