the gravity of my own selfishness: how dare I wallow in my own shallow suffering, this kiddie pool I refuse to swim in, choose to drown in, while turning a blind eye to the ocean of pain in which the rest of the world treads?
sometimes it hits me full force: consumed by my own suffering, consumed by my own negativity, consumed by this void of my own making— the glass cracks, I see in full clarity my own pathetic weakness. so without purpose that I’ve created misty demons to slay myself. I spar with my own mind, ignoring the real fight.
hungry, hungry, hungry for purpose. take me out of myself. save me from myself. give me to service to escape the pit of my own mind. let me care for the welfare of another that I cease this selfish madness of constant self-pity. I am a man who inherited the world, yet convinced himself he had nothing.
this self-centered self pity, a leaden weight chained to the ankle. the masses carry the bolt cutters— to them I go
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 