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As of this moment, I could be working addressing the huge pile of paper weighing down on my back. The pile keeps on getting larger, and as it gets larger I get more overwhelmed. There is an obvious solution to this conundrum, but I do not dare take a crack at it. I will bury myself always before I let someone bury me, but either way I am deep in it. And I can't breathe. Literally. I am coughing up my lungs as I type this. I spent four hours over the course of yesterday to today just walking around, at the blackest hours of the night. It was below freezing, I had a bad cold, and I did not wear a jacket. There was an obvious solution to that too. But I did it to think. Since the day I learned to walk I learned that pacing was the only way I could do any real thinking. Get the blood to my head, get the ideas going. If I don't think, I act on basic intuition. Intuition comes from the very core of our subconscious, the essence of our being. But that is my problem. There is something wrong with the essence of my being.

I hold no trajectories of the archetypal tough mind set that any archetypal man, or any human being would traditionally hold. I am weak. Weak in the most stinging way possible; the weak stitching that is supposed to keep the fabric of my soul vital. Most people, would see themselves in their whole and would have the strength to climb out. The only reason why I equip myself with such dense armor is because without it my frail essence would be shattered. But my fragile being is getting crushed by the weight of the armor. I only wear it to avoid defeat, but the weakest man is the man who has never once lost. It takes getting hit to learn how to recover from it. My body is weak right now, I haven't slept for days, by mouth aches, my leg is throbbing, my lungs are ablaze. That's how I feel most comfortable. It's fitting that such a weak person have such a weak body. If I were punched right now I doubt I would have the strength to strike back. That makes enough sense. A couple blows and my life sails south.

If my fiber core has shattered, how does my structure sustain itself? That is simple enough. I do not have the strength to walk on my own but I have been given crutches. These crutches allow me to carry out the menial tasks that every day life demands, perhaps without the destination, but I can still walk. Since I cannot make it on my two feet I am ever most grateful to the people who are helping me stand back up. They deserve more credit than I could ever give them. Because I always considered myself an artist. I never held delusions of grandeur or anything of that ilk. But I am an artist in the fact that I take everything that happens in my life and create something to reflect it so I myself can understand and cope with the events and melodrama that each life sustains. So I paint myself a face, to hide the cracks in my smile. Somehow they can see through every picture I paint, and they tolerate the deception that there in lies. They see through the veil that I've embroidered a scene of myself prancing upon it, and they see me broken and tattered and in the hole. I never did a thing for them, and only attempted to deceive them with my faces, but for some reason I will never be able to comprehend, they try to help me walk.

But I'm still falling. Because even though help presents itself everyday, I can not recognize it when it comes. I can not let it aide me. I do not have the audacity to take what I know I do not deserve. I was once willing to let myself fall to the bottom, but I was caught by string that were attached to my back. I did not have the will power to cut them loose. I do hope, however, to become a stronger being. But my biggest fear is that I am actually following through. For every tear that I write, every laugh that I paint grows more hallow. And these words are becoming empty, every time I reach for them. I am what those words made me. Who am I if I cannot define who I am? Will I let myself become molded by every ******** thing that hits me? I can go to church on Christmas day so hopefully I will develop a belief in god so I may pray to him that I will just hit the ground and be done with it? I'm still falling though, and I will not be caught next time. I'll have the strength to land on my own two feet.

In my inner fabric of my core and not the fabricated soul I sell everyday, lies a heart. This is not a hear that easily presents itself, it is shy and timid, and will hide every time it is addressed. It is a homely heart, not good for much and does not do fancy tricks. It beats but it does not synchronize. It loves though... but meagerly to the point where it won't be heard, although even if it barked for attention it wouldn't deserve to be reciprocated and it never will. It is a heart that will not get up after it has been kicked, it is a heart that will not fight for anything, and just give it up to the first contender no matter how much it believed it mattered. Such a pitiful creature, I would kick it myself if I could. The best I can do is crack my shell in a way that resembles the scars of cuts that never quite healed upon the valves of my heart.

Well, I guess I should stop digging, and do some homework. Good bye for now anonymous audience that does not exist. I'll be back to type my words into oblivion. I would not do it if there was not an option to publish it. I will publish it in a void though. It was nice talking to you, as this is as far as a conversation I can have with anybody. And good bye, anonymous person who does not exist. I am going to be here... I promised myself that.