Absurd as it may seem, or rather unknowingly, I'm badly out of shape.

I'd rather not carry on with this. With what I'm about to write. Times like these I feel an upsurge of uncertainties and recalcitrant misgivings. You can smell the shit as it hits the fan. (I literally get a free whiff everyday when I walk past that caveat beside my office.)

I'm a mess. I get the sinking thought that everything has fallen out of place. Or rather, never really did in the first place.

In the end, everything proves nothing. People start to talk in riddles. You feel like you're at the end of every rotten stick.

What is this? What the hell am I doing?

The truth is, I've got blood on my hands. You realised you need a clean slate. It gets increasingly difficult to maintain that balance. I thought about getting to that "some point" where you get to start from scratch. But then it gets all too familiar. Vicious cycles. I can't seem to make the right decisions anymore. Every day becomes a brand new mistake, weaving its way into an uncoveted routine.

I am spent. I wished it had not gotten to this point so quickly. I could only take heed that I can procreate a space to instill numbness.

(I also realised I used a lot of first person contexts. Bear with me.)

I really have to stop running.