I am miserable because of me. 

My mind is restless. I live inside my lost mind. My fantasies feel like home more than my reality ever will. This real world, it is so cruel. I cannot control it. I like to live in my dreams; they are the only color I can see in this black and white life of mine.

I do not like the truth, it has never been kind to me. No one lies to me more than I lie to me. I lied to me about you, and I certainly always lie to me about me. I do not like this real world. I am a woman of passion and nothing in this dull world can feed its hunger. Feeling anxiety is better than feeling nothing at all. 

I am miserable because of me. I look in the mirror and I do not like me. I like who I will never be. I like things that will never happen. I live in places I’ve never been to in my mind and my life is an adventure. You tell me to be realistic, but to be realistic is to die. I don’t know how you do it. How you are happy with your ordinary lives. 

I have gotten used to my vivid imagination. Do not bring me to live in your mundane world. Do not bring me to fall in love outside of my mind. If I do, I will get bored. And he will break my heart. Let me break his heart in my daydreams. Let me crush him as my imaginations of him crush me every day. My mind is fire; my dreams are flames. I would rather live in an eternal fire than die or boredom. But my fire makes me miserable. I am miserable because of me. I am alive because of me.

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