I don't know. What do I want to be? What can I be is more like it.. All that I am is confined to the edges of this paper. An outlet for my personal torment..
Hello, I am Sebastian Crow. this is my mind.
Why can't I put my trust into people? They always let it all out, spill their guts, but I sit there like a tree. Silent and strong.. But on the inside I have bugs.. Creatures, crawling, biting, gnawing at the insides of me. I'm damaged goods. This is me failing. None of this is for me. None of it. I try and it seems like nothing ever comes out of it. What do I want to be?
My biggest fear is looking into a mirror and not knowing who will stare back. It feels like I'm slowly reaching that point. This perfectionism.. I can never look and be pleased, be satisfied.. All I ever see is what more I could do, what I could be.. Not what I am. What am I? I'm not even enough for me.. I can't even reach my standards, and they aren't high at all..
Even I don't know who I am.
I can't help it. It's ingrained into my skin, my flesh, my blood. It's carved into my bone.
(Eventually I'm sure, I'll open up and I'll scratch more than just the bark of this tree.)
Listening to: The Posthumous Letter - William Control