how pathetic

the sky is moving. the lights are flickering. the dark has crowded in my mind, seeded little beasts to sprout. The rain pours down in sheets that wind and twist in the wind. happiness is becoming impossible in the face of all of this darkness and trial and boredom. All I want is to be active and to want to work. I know it has to come from me. I have poisoned the well of my own mind and it is clouded in this black spurt of self-loathing. It must be another phase and I dare not shun it or cover it up, as frantic as it makes me. I must allow myself to hate myself for a time, it seems. I miss my ego, which has shattered. A phase, a phase - I move continuous and slow as the moon and her low burning filament. I claw desparately at love, as a bird slams her small sparrow's belly against the glass.