Solitude daze in which I find myself crazed.

I look around and no one’s there but when I close my eyes I feel the audience of the masses. Somewhere perturbed in my complex I am never alone when I wish to be, and alone when I don’t want to be. Either way I look around, there’s no one there, and my downward spiral takes another pitfall.

I take agony with the theme of emptiness in order to cope and preach upon trying, because if I am trying there is inherently progress being made. Progress not perfection, another preaching. I suppose I’ve turned a blind eye to regression. I do not admit that until I’m muttering “I’m a failure” like a scratched record until it booms into a crescendo in my own mind and it’s all I can hear. It echoes and echoes and catches reverb until it’s all I can feel.

Shut down again. Misery loves company. I still look around and I am alone.

My only friend. The (holy) ghost.