Vulture.

I speak in metaphors and I don't understand how someone doesn't understand: "I hate watches, because I hate time."
Time kills us. It degrades the seconds you felt were hours and the moments that meant more than an interval of time in a day. The grief you felt in an instant isn't good enough if it didn't last a decade. Time is irrelevant.

Time has made everyone around me fade. Like the photographs lining my shelves, my knowledge and awareness of my friends (even the best ones) have slipped through my fingers. Their knowledge of my life is gone, because I have made it so.
I'm not quite sure if it is positive or negative, but I know the emptiness is quite unbearable. And more photographs have been losing color than ever.

The one closest to me doesn't know 50% of me, which is more painful than words can define. And trying to explain doesn't work because people don't understand and can't understand, so why bother? I never wanted my therapist to know more about me than a best friend. Numbness just slaughters creativity and dulls the mind, hence why writing is only something I can do at 1 am. At a semiconscious state, I have learned more about myself and concepts I have wanted to define in an instant. My creative, emotional side isn't covered by levels of brain-padding. Padding and walls, padding and walls.

My choices have been questionable and I think psychologically I keep urging myself to destroy the good and run to what is damaging because it is my natural reaction. Maybe what's natural is to long for what is destructive because of the possibilities of the good you would scavenge. And if that's the case, I'm quite the vulture.