It's funny how boredom can bore through your core, can spin through your skin, can burn past each turn to reach your innards and find that there's nothing inwards but still keep on digging.

It's crazy how wishing and never wanting but then inappropriately chancing upon it leaves you soiled in regret and hoping to be toiled by your captives, so your dreams don't get spoiled and your plans won't be foiled, and so you have the tiniest spark of wisdom you can still pinch on to.

It's pathetic how rolling on the deathbed can still leave bedsores and the imprint of your weighted shadow crafting the mould and it's just like it was told, that desire and passion alone can't always unfold what's born to hold and sometimes you need to learn to let go.

It's devastating to float on one's misery, to feel the ripples of the trials and tribulations, and that almost-sinking feeling but still knowing your life hangs by a threat thread, and even though you can no longer breathe, at least you can still feel the air rushing out your lungs and you won't ever forget the pain when it leaves your anatomy.

It's almost numb when the dreams become increasingly real, and you wake up to a normal, mundane life, void of all excitement, freed from the distress but also wrung dry of the adrenaline and purpose. You gasp for that sense of thrill once more but the past 10 days have taken it all away.

And it's still funny, crazy, pathetic, devastating to know all that you always wanted is all that they'll ever be because you can't ever get what you want, and that cornucopia of emotions makes you numb.

It makes you numb because you don't want to imagine. Or maybe because you can't anymore.