Fucking Metaphors

I've been reading too much Vonnegut. The thing about Vonnegut is that nothing that he writes is to be taken at face value. Everything is more than they seem to be...innocent-seeming ideas are enlarged, but still, they are hollow, empty, nothings, an echo of reality. I'm currently seeing the world through his lenses...and I'm not satisfied.

Things aren't in a good state. It's...fucked up, metaphorically speaking. A house that isn't a home, a life that is merely an existence, and a fragile stained-glass facade. FLASH AND EXPLOSION BUT WHEN THE DUST SETTLES THERE'S NOTHING TO SEE, LADIES AND GENTS. The magician isn't putting in enough effort anymore.

I'm not usually so down like this. I have my moments of melancholy. Melancholy is good for the soul; it tempers it, and sets it grounded. The realization of unhappiness and of imperfection sets the foundation for improvement. I'm not gonna settle. Fuck mediocrity. I want to be something more than what I am, but right now, there is no indication of that happening, and it worries me. I am 19 but I am nothing.

I don't want to live a nothing life. Not anymore.