Exquisite Inadequacy

I hang in the air between spaces, between phases of life, the ropes tethering me to the current fraying and snapping one by one by one. Who knows how much longer they will hold out? 

I never had a fear of heights, but I've always had a fear of falling, the empty sensation in the stomach that wrenches me from dreams. So I threw myself at the shallows, at the things that would not hurt me when I landed, inevitably without waiting hands at the bottom. I threw myself at the places where I could force myself back onto my battered feet, where I didn't have to be disappointed by all the helping hands I was not receiving. 

Now I regret my lack of recklessness. Because every time I pushed myself to my knees, to my feet again, I found that the pain was just the same. I should have spent it on the things that really mattered. 

But I don't know how to take off my training wheels. I spent so much time avoiding the edge, the deep, that I don't really know how to fall.

Downfall by the Unreal

Wrong. Wrong. The closer I think I am, the further I am revealed to be. I am a fool; a blind fool who sought to make you something out of fragments and passing moments and glittering illusions. I am a lost cause and I make my own misery. It bears down and emerges through the open cuts on my skin. 

Wrong. I cannot even talk to you. The thought of seeing you wrenches my stomach, threatens discharge of everything in it. Because I was wrong. And I thought I felt something akin to love, but it wasn't; you're a concept, a figment, an escape in a world of trappings, and I - stupid, stupid I - got caught in the trap of your eyes. I should have looked twice before I let myself even near the edge. Now I'm paying the price for something imagined. I'm bleeding for you and you don't even exist.