I am full of drama, and I fucking hate it.

Closer now, fox isn't too far from reach. I can see the golden emblem shining bright within, running constantly towards the ultimate achievement known, to brother alike.
I feel the pull. Dull aching that strains through skin and bone, feel the pull. A slow grinding straight through you're skull.
Twist, pick, extract, anxiety.
The diverse and idiosyncratic, binding the body in filth, disgust. Watch me apply pressure, see this, answer my question.
It's a question of reality.
It masks the honest and pure, envelopes them in the wrong diagnosis.
Actions speak just as loud as words, you just have to listen; carefully.

My words slip onto a dry mouth, out of jail and into open air. Disappearing before realising what they meant. Forget consciousness, live in symbolism, the sub-area and unseen meaning.
Guilt, aggression, insecurity...
It's just a bad dream...
Too unreal, consequences are too destructive.
Wake up...

"... One of the strongest motives that led men to art and science is escape from every day life with it's painful crudity and hopeless dreariness, from the fetters of one's own ever shifting desires. A finely tempered nature longs to escape from the personal life into the world of objective perception and thought." - Albert Einstein