Misery.

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I spend my days lifelessly counting my blessings, yet doing nothing about them.

I spend my life recklessly dreaming about boys who don’t care, and people who don’t matter.

I wonder how they have the ability to judge my character, yet I allow them to do so, without uttering one word.

Maybe they do speak the truth, yet is the truth worthy of pain?

I have fought, and struggled yet I am not what I wish to be, I am no where near who I wish to be. All I have done is believe in myself, but even the depths of my soul are beginning to lose faith.

I learn more from my failure then from my success. I edge over each milestone and rejoice yet agonise over each obstacle.

I am frustrated, I am frustrated with this fight, I cannot bear it any longer than I have willed myself to, yet I am still here, still strong, still fighting.

I am weary of this confusion. I do not know what my life has become, I do not know who I’ve become and I know that’ll soon be my downfall.

Perhaps I must venture into the unknown, fall into the traps of destruction and rise; rise and seek the root of my misery.