We have to loose ourself in something to survive. In god. In poetry or music or love. These things make it bearable and when your drowning in the reality of the masks it’s unbearable. The essence of this existence has no answer and if we don’t coat it with something, a veil to hide the void you turn into Kimberly whose just loosing her mind because she’s too aware of it all. That it’s all temporary and fleeting. Nothing lasts or means anything. Change is the only constant. Ungraspable change. Even this will pass. I’ll feel differently when I find a new coating. I’ll feel differently if I focus on something else that temporarily removes this sensation of recognition. This won’t matter in the morning. The menial tasks will be my sheet, and I’ll exist as a vessel for a ghost that can function better and meander through existence without the hyper awareness, without the hope. The naive hope and hope and hope.