Perception Obscura

I believe I know everything. I know I don't. But I think so. This is the constant, the war between insecurity and egotism. I know I will fail countlessly, but I do what I can not to. I feel like I have to show the world my greatness. I have to. I am miserable, maybe that's why I work so hard to show why I am so much better than everyone else, artistically. I try to find a saving grace, but there is none. I am who I am, though that's not a very good person to be. Growth comes. Sight blurs amidst the line where positive and negative meet. I just do what I can. Most of the time it is not enough. I am more intelligent than most, which leads to terrible habits and traits. I'm not better than most, but I am. I'm not, as a human, though. So much further to go, I doubt I'll make it there. Thoughts, emotions––inflected yet not intelligible enough. Never are. I would like to be able to describe it all. However, there is not enough vocabulary, nor am I aware of how to do so. Life seems to be that way. Attitudes, knowledge, idiocy, love, hate, feelings: a combination of all––and more unnamed. Desperation, loneliness and depression encompassing self. The ever-consuming sphere. Break away from it, find the exit. But it's difficult to do so. Almost impossible. But here I am. Progress. Movement. Growth. I'm here. I'm here. I'm here. The resounding chant. The door is open. Walk through. Go.