The days..
The days are all sort of blurring together. I barely even see the days. I see late afternoons and nights. And sunrises on the worst nights. Keeping to myself doesn't sound healthy, but it seems to work for me. It's too difficult to go out, and be around others and act like I'm liking it. I don't have much good to say. And the good I do have to say I can't really talk about. And my soul doesn't have the energy to help my mind make up something interesting. I avoid missing people by pushing them out of my mind and my life altogether. Some of you would know what I mean, unfortunately.
The good..
The good is really good. It's so good, it makes the nights that I can't sleep worth the insomnia.
The good is so good, it erases everything that hurts. And all I want to do is consume myself in it. Whenever I'm not distracted by the few things that eliminate the pain, I just want to run away to the good stuff and bury myself in it. I don't care where.
The people..
The people are amazing. They're so fascinated, it seems, with any information I have to offer. They seem to thirst for it, because I can't get away from the questions. I'm wondering who died and made my life so interesting. Because they never cared before. And I don't want to have to explain.
I wish I could just bury myself in a hole and not talk to anyone about it.
And the writing..
Well the writing is hard to do.
Hard like how it feels when a dentist pulls your teeth out.
Hard like trying to get a 24 year old man to dance,
Like waiting for a long headache to pass, or a stabbing in the leg.
Not life or death. But just painful and frustrating.
And the more I can't get it out, the more it sits inside me and poisons whatever's in there.
I mean the writing is..
Well you can see what the writing's like.
