Wax Realistic.

Let’s give this a shot.

I had a conversation with my brother about inspiration. He stated that you could write as many songs as you like, but it doesn’t mean shit if no one supports you. And by support, I mean support for the art, not yourself. There is a distinct gap between people who like what you do because you do it, and people who genuinely like your craft.

Luckily for me, it doesn’t seem like the people who like me like what I write. Therefore, people who don’t like me also don’t like what I write. And at some twisted level; I don’t think that I like what I write.

And I think that it spawns from the fact that I am so uninspired. I’m so unimpressed by the words I attempt to write down on digital or physical paper.

It’s a bunch of meaningless letters about people who made me miserable, but don’t make me miserable. At the same time, however, I’ve neglected to build new relationships that I can bitch and moan about. I’m not miserable, nor am I happy. I’m stagnant, static, and more alone than I’ve ever been.

No one let’s me down, because I don’t believe in anyone. No one breaks my heart, because I never fall in love. No one can make me afraid, because I don’t know what bravery is.

The people that I “hate” are enemies, but I come to find that I don’t form opinions on anyone anymore. And I can’t hate, because I don’t love.

I’m an empty slate. I’m a zero. I think that it is amazing, because emptiness can be filled with any number of things. However, I can’t find anything to fill it.

…

Hell, I don’t even like this.