Sometimes I feel like someone out there is purposely messing with me. Like an innocent man who has been set up by j'ne sais qui and is desperately trying to prove themselves and regardless of the fact that he screams out the truth, all the so-called evidence indicates that he's lying. And he's desperate because he knows he's honest but he's not able to do anything to prove it and hopelessly prays for a miracle.
They say that Karma comes back around, but it only does for the bad things. At least to me, it just didn't come back the same way. The more I gave, the less I got back. The more I tried to shelter people from being hurt, the more it backfired at me - and I've always wondered why. So I tried to live with it. Like it didn't matter my intentions were always good, like it didn't matter that my life was fucked up for no reason. I preferred being constantly stabbed just for a moment of soothing. And I still do this. After all these years, I still got thousands of knives stuck in my back, still waiting for my soothingness.
I stopped looking for reasons. The only answer I'm still waiting for is how long will I be doing this until it finally gets to me. But man, I don't know.
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