Rehabilitating structure to the disorder comforts me, and oddly satisfies me to the point it becomes second nature. In wonderment I concede to its solace in hopes to find its roots, its core, its soul. What is the root of this chaos? I want to know. I have to find out. Stopping its course does nothing but fuel it more vigorously. I have to think clearly and see past the temptations, the sins of my flesh and being. Is there life beyond my disrupted indecisions? What do I have to do, to become really to have a moment of unspoiled silence. I am living in reality, however dying in my dreams. I close myself from the world to avoid invitation to my destructive war. Release is my only saviour, my only friend I need, yet it hides itself from my quivering knees. Afraid and lost, I rely on my peculiarity to get me through life that was blessed to me. When will I be freed from this riddled mind.
