How is it that such a loud background can make me feel so very, very, very empty? All these words ratchet off my body, pinging here and there, but never seeming to reach their final destination. Even in a room full of people, I am only a fragment of an existence. If a puzzle is missing a piece, and you can only find a half of one, where do you go from there? Do you find its counterpart and glue it back together? Or does there come a time when you have to say to yourself, "You know, maybe I should just give up. It's not worth searching and taking time out to locate it."?
Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I wonder how much longer I can dangle off the cliff and not want to jump and end my life. Maybe being crazy isn't the greatest thing, after all. Maybe it's the reason why I've reached this stalemate. It's like a diabolical game of checkers: the red and the black are stuck in a position where neither one can make a move.
Personally, I hate the ways events happen. I hate how I react to them. Most of all, I've decided maybe being out of control isn't a joyride. Maybe it's a free ticket to an insane asylum. And let me tell you, that's nothing like Disney World.
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