i find myself getting more and more disillusioned. with work. with life. with just about anything that's going on. stagnation. i can smell it. the lack of progress irks me. but i can't get myself out of this rut. stuck in this abyss.
this deranged flower is slow to acrimony.
it resents antagonism, abhors hypocrisy, detests lies and scorns imperfection.
It fears failure but swears allegiance to success.
It feeds on emotion in all its dizzy raptures; lives by passion and despondency.
It is sentimental and sensitive, perhaps inordinately so.
Friendships were never its cup of tea. Fragility not in its nature.
A loner. Vulnerable and afraid yet stubborn and self-possessed.
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