Micah's little memoir : Little bit of everything and Jazz fueled suicidal phase

It's been so long that I forgot my face, my forlorn visage. I forgot the way I feel. I forgot my lover's face. I forgot my mother's face. I forgot that I'm a sentient being drowning in my pool of sentimentality. I forgot I carry my mother's misery, and it took a while to realize I've grown agoraphobia. Walking forward, facing backwards.

Random Thoughts

//I like the color blue and yellow
Reminds me of the early morning profound sadness
Bone to bone Head to toe
And your visage in my perpetual mind
It boggles me to intertwine
And half-wilt sansevieria above my head
Like my childhood set in a sapphire stone. //

I harbor deep existential dread from the core, and I stab myself every time just to forget that my existence is merely hollow. I feel deeply sorry for myself that I exist in this lucid hollowness. I thought I was empty; how naive of me to not realize I live with my pile of regrets after regrets like clothes on a random laundry Tuesday. I wonder if it's just me or people often think about offing themselves while listening to jazz in a long bus journey. Not just a bus journey, perhaps, while sitting on a hospital chair waiting, or waiting for the train to arrive at the station, and making hypothetical situations about what would happen if I actually decided to take the potassium cyanide while listening to Ryo Fukui.

Perhaps all I ever wanted was to not wake up and have that usual coffee in a mug where your lipstick stains are there and ruminate about why eugenics went extinct. My entire existence is a denial, live in denial that I'm nothing but a shell of a person. I constantly need to prove myself by putting my hands on a stove that I'm combustible.

Epilogue

Two nihilists were fighting; one was a driver and one was a passenger, the lives of passengers depended on the driver, but the nihilist passenger didn't give a shit if the driver crashed the bus.