You became, rather, someone I invented in my thoughts; and I invested into that invention.
And now, later, as my investment pans out to be fruitless but for madness; I find myself at a loss of words during most times. Now, I simply exist as a mechanism, tuned, only a little, by faith. I wish I had thoughts similar to those that put forth so many excellent expressions; yet those, as I look back and analyze, lacked in actual purpose, other than to continue complex delusions.
Heavily medicated at present, there exists no easy answer, to that which leaves me numb and emotionless. I suppose the only 'emotion' I feel now is frustration, and the placid feelings given by temporary distraction.
I'm no genius, yet am often consumed with thoughts of the manipulation of temporal existence. How I long to be the master of my own fate... but for being chemically weak in the organ residing in my cranium.
I doubt there is a salve, or cure, for being mostly a machine with a depressive nature. I won't lie and say I do not lust after those schisms from reality that bring such otherworldly occurrences; but now I am aware of the chaos that would ensue... so I bide my time for a better way.
And to thoughts of the beautiful ghost created in my fantasy: You still exist in there, and that perhaps, is the most frustrating of all.
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