Just a little bit of writing practice

It's not up to you.

You've sinned too much to allow yourself heaven on earth.

It's hard to let it be your place to own something precious.

And with the free-will of everyone else turning on you and walking towards fate, you lay down on your bed, soft as a rock.

You deny yourself happiness and pleasure, the real, true kind. You simply won't have it. You will punish yourself sub-consciously. 

"Oh call me Felicity"

You write that bullshit for no reason.

You write what won't help anyone, not even you.

You write what will help the people who have the same blues in common wallow in their whirlpools of wet tears.

And you sit here even now and write and write and complain and complain. Someday you will be enlightened. Someday you'll be enlightened.