Ineffable disappointment

My inability to put this inflating disappointment in my head into words is itself disappointing me.

There are no proper words. No proper terms. No proper adjectives. No proper expression.

I keep fumbling for words, losing track of what I have initially wanted to express as I tumble down onto thoughts of contempt and exhaustion, insignificance and triviality, superficiality and mundaneness, pretense and hypocrisy.

The only thing that reverberates over my entirety is that I’m disappointed. I’m disappointed. I’m disappointed. I’m disappointed.

I’m getting worn out and sick of dealing with this same old trivial shit. I’m tired of going through the same cycle—all the while knowing that the person I’m trying to pull out of the limbo is the same person dragging himself back down.

I’m disappointed. Disappointed. Disappointed. Disappointed.

This makes me feel useless, in every sense of the word—my words rendered worthless, my efforts deemed pointless. I didn’t know it was possible for someone to be so ridiculous—so ridiculous to proudly parade his stupidity across my face.

Disappointed. Disappointed. Disappointed. Disappointed.

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