Whether this is being honest with oneself

Hatred that comes from within,
turmoil that can't be materialized,
an agitation and unease to the deepest layers of being.
Itching and scratching to uncover the scathed bruise
that no one can see, that no one understands.
what is the source, where did it begin. 
We only seek to answer that which we know we can.
That which has origin. 
Is it insecurity?It must be mistrust.
A lost interest and belief in everything;
all is tainted and flawed, after all. 
Displeasure and disdain for the limited.
It is too much of mine. 
too short [of divine].

Can we not find refuge from the objects?
From the definitions, the projections and the productions.
Those above which we used to know we had control.
Can we not find refuge? or is it that we strayed too far?

I used to know right from wrong
 and where each laid. 
A giganteous monster now has risen,
composed of all familiar deposits
"Dechets" we couldn't do with.
The fear of having turned away, long ago from something larger
than our perceptions. 
We seeked, now stopped. 
To run away from this bleak, powerful truth
of color and stench- stark white:
I am weak. You are weak. We are weak. 
The weary, achy bones, they throb in unison
attempt the protest of generations. A reflex- a habit
you know that you know it.
Your flesh boils hot as your insides run wildly about
forging against the enemy. A reflex- a tactic of habit.
Continue to scratch, continue to search
continue to peel the thinnest or thickest layer or tissue.
Continue to scream!
Consult the hurt, telling your brain telling your heart telling your soul
to fight this white-The Clarity.
This is where it ends. It always was here
for your to see and accept, Come the deadline.
At this page, needless of words.
You find your breaking point. 

So break.
and for your own sake, continue to scream. 
you are weak and poor, after all.

~keep me afloat, keep me aloof~