Every side has two sides.

My tendencies represent a fateless reality. I am pushed back, I am doubted. Time and time again I fix myself upon a shred of light, a truth existing among society's prevarications. I avoid everything right, I run away from anything good. And I am found helpless, observing my natural state, my human existence, my fatal wanderings. I look to the south, to the east, to my lovely surroundings. To the aesthetic feel of a heart throb, the morbid classification of needing a shocking element. I appease every rightful term to its innate behavior, in order to justify my own. I happenstance every event to the desire for no meaning. I cannot feel, I cannot breathe, I need these things but I am quite happy without them. I feel your presence and it betrays my existence. It inquires upon my subtle, sustaining words. My soul, my emotions, at peace within my weary countenance. I wont allow humbling myself, for it sides with unjustified poverty. I must not bring light upon that of which I do not completely agree with. But to be totally and noticeably in the depths, I feel what I do not feel, as it has a simpler meaning, which I do not express my condolences for. I wish myself to only be an idea, not a person, as I have made you the former, and sadly rejoice in it. I want to be an art, I shant be shamed of something so limitedly observed.