𝗗𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗬 𝗟𝗔𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗥𝗬 ᵖʳᵒˢᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵒᵉᵗʳʸ

it viciously basks in.

the honey-coated reality is sticky with inconsistencies
so sickly sweet, it cannot be good for your heart
but oh, so fine for your brain.
a waltz between the ideal, the given and
everything in-between,
moved by the rhapsodies about an epic life;
chanted in the granules that entertain your endorphins.


but then,


you mourn the corpses of the moths that met their end inside your night lamp,
that stopped buzzing once they reached the light;
and so you retract again,
into your darkness,
you don't want to end up like them.

and now,


you're on your shoddy tightrope once more,
looking for the equilibrium
between what kills you 
                                                        /
          -------------------------and----------------------
                                                   /
what makes you feel alive.
you don't want to admit that what kills you makes you want to live
and that what makes you feel alive also makes you want to die.