I’m losing balance in bad acts. Mind is running far away from me; desperately and directionally lost in said ether. (And yet) I seem to care enough to record it here. (to be judged and rather ignored) no balls to announce on roof tops just yet. And when I do have that courage will you hear that annoying megaphone? And will the world care? None of this matters.
2tired2try. Days have turned a single digit repeatedly.
Keep writing music like my only listener is the software to write it. It’s painfully true, their machines are the only ones that understand you. Lately my conscious has been nothing more of a living a coma. Sleep everywhere all the fucking time¹, almost too tired for dreams. I’m angry but no strength to expose such. Crushed to powdered marrow. How aboutcha?
summertimesadness(everywhere all the fucking time²)
actually wouldn’t mind going back to the hospital. I felt secure there. I was the buildings bitch, but I don’t mind being called a ho. Surrounded by people you fall in love with but loath. You hate it but ask for another day to stay. Sometimes all I cared about was smoking a cigarette. The patch never worked for me so I never asked.
Consumed by irrational fears that no one can change. It’s all in my head which is the problem. Who can cut that part out? My insurance may be able to pay. Honestly I can’t articulate this type of pain. That part of my brain inactive. Half Medicare/ half Medicaid. That’s a correct explanation.
Maybe I’ll just listen to 2012 hits and pretend I’m 23 again, and in reality I’m just laying down in bed still being old and alone, being forty. Pretending Death Grips is the new best thing. Subtract another decade because that lie is only meant to hurt myself and I wait til it does. Then fuck, ouch. Rub your hands through my hair and look at my face, say “God you’re so old.” so when we fuck I treat you like shit. Enough thoughts ’cause my accuracy is off and offensive. Just Nothing Comprehensive.
inwex 