Prayed to be better, and what I got is a feedback telling how terrible I was.
F**k my pride, I say, f**k my swollen yet easily shrunken pride.
But cursing my pride doesn't stop the hurt.
Heck, cursing other people for fun doesn't stop the hurt, either.
And now I'm praying for the pain to go away.
Hate those moments when you know it damn well that you need to be objective and thoughen up, but your head just wouldn't stop spinning in self-disgust.
The existential anxiety is the soul draining white noise that hovers around 24 and 7, popping up whenever you accidentally pay attention.
How come you just can't shake loose the doom and gloom?
But then again, how can you shake off a shadow?
It all sticks on you, in a thickened, sick sort of way, like mucus.
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