Royal

Its easy to doubt, and sometimes i see the ways i lie. Such words, coming in sound and thought, such places. I waste my time, and i live in filth, trying to stay calm.

and in control telling myself they are not like me. But even this can be seen as good or bad or sad. Even the recognition that people are not me is pathetic, yet grand and royally humble. again, as it ever was, it depends, as it does, on whatever we wish it to, or find it to.

and again as it ever was, recognizing this, Eehch! it all becomes such sick forms of validation, and i'd rather just look away or accept, because i'm damned and retched either way.

but again, its royal, and good, and grand.