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she's so fine and i'm killing myself with it
Been neck deep in nostalgia. Too much, perhaps. Threatening to drown myself in media and memories from a time when everything. Every. Thing. Was a million billion trillion times better than it is now.
Nostalgia is a drug. It's comforting and numbing like alcohol. It tricks your mind into not seeing how horrible everything around you is. It makes living tolerable.
Drawing on my shallow well of good memories. Looking up at the charred sky from the dank murky bottom. Wondering how I will climb the slimy stone walls back to solid ground.
Wondering. Waiting. Planning. Failing.
Failing to endure. Failure at being an adult. F stands for everything is fucked up, so fuck it. Daily responsibility has left my back hunched and my stomach full of lead weights. Moment by moment I sink deeper into the mud. Up to my ankles. Wait no, up to my knees.
Hands covered in cuts and blood. Cuts from working. Blood from apathy.
Heart covered in sores and frayed wires. A fire hazard of volatile emotions.
I can not sit still anymore. My legs hurt from immobility. Always wanting to be doing. To move. Move. Move it on over. Too hard to just be. Have to be somebody.
My voice becoming weak and distant from lack of use. No reason to speak when no one listens. No one listens. Just thinking of their own words and jumping at the closest chance to cram them down someone's, anyone's throat.
Am I a criminal just because I committed a crime? Is something art just because you hang it on the wall?
Not original, but true. Just as there is no truth, only Truth.
Beginning to think Karma is as much a myth as heaven and hell and Santa Claus. Putting carrots in my shoes for the reindeer and cookies on a plate for the elf with a gland problem. Trying to be good for the illusion of some great reward. Shiny new shit you don't need. Might as well put that carrot on the end of a stick and shove that stick up my ass.
See, I'm running in circles.
Get it.
Got it.
Good night.
8:54 PM - Tuesday, Nov. 06, 2012
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