SkyS-h-a-d-e

Words tumble, dribble, drip Out the shallow river mouths of deep, vast minds. To call the currents forth is to call myself a friend and to let others see past pure waters always kept in dark reservoirs (that probably should've stayed) Other similar minds:  the currents don't yield, the damn splits apart (out flows words to which) (my ears feel the regret) (empathetically) (pathetically) Yet it reminds me of times I felt as if I was the only one grinding against the rocks. Hah, look at me, smiling at someone else's suffering, smiling at how I'm not alone.

I tried writing in a "real journal" for once, but it's not suiting me. It takes such old-fashioned patience to slow your mind to the nauseating drawl of your hand. Now, I'm caving in to my impatience and spilling my thoughts on a digital canvas rather than trickling them on an analog one. Perhaps it's this impatience that'll be my enemy in the future. But if impatience is truly such a hamartia, then humanity and I will fall as ashes to the same furnace.

I've been thinking quite deeply on this "contract" that I spoke of in the previous entry and have concluded that I've made the conditions too rigid in an effort to scare myself. Many questions arose that spurred this conclusion such as if I fail to, say, brush my teeth or check my workspace, have I just earned a strike? Or what will happen if I follow a rigid schedule and it completely burns me out by the end of the week? Is that effective? Have I succeeded in my goal? Well, my goal in the first place was to prove to myself that I can attain the skills to materialize my dreams with my own hands, while still remaining happy. If I am too rigid