(no subject)
my inspiration is a puddle standing in the shadow of a lake. Driving in your stupid car, pressing rewind on the tape deck just so we can hear ourselves sing one more time. I remember pouring over pages, knowing the exact minute everyday when the sun would set, hoping to capture some formation of life in decay. These thoughts are whisped away and easily forgotten like a night full of heavy drinking.
I have a problem and it is called false conclusions. Saying this brings forth a second problem; hindsight. Give me four years, I'll tell you exactly why i wrote this, exactly what the answer is. My conclusions are always entirely too positive; this will work out, we are different, this is important, i know what i'm talking about. These are the simplest terms, the easiest resolutions, yet i am never suprised to discover they are entirely incorrect.
Perhaps it's time to cut the shit. I fool around with boys knowing it's a bad idea and desperately attempting to justify the bad idea as a good one. This is where my dissapointment stems from, my inadequacy is inherent to lying to myself. I give up. I am hands up on my knees. I don't need, I don't long for, I don't desire a commitment. I am unsure if i ever truley have, the stress is nearly unbearable. Every boy i've pursued has been for my own personal gain, emotional or otherwise. Anyone who tells you differently is a dirty liar.
So i'm in a car full of liars, driving these liars (minus one) to somewhere else so they can lie some more. Its all a huge act and upon near car crash (of which 85% of these liars are too intoxicated to recall) my brain screams for release. Kill this car of liars, kill this fucking play, kill the world, it's all lies.
But it's not. there is honesty in connection, which is limted and rare. Maybe everything else is bullshit, in which case there is completely no reason to hold back or feel guilty for fucking this up.
I am a lake pretending to be a puddle and i am going to fuck this up.
I have a problem and it is called false conclusions. Saying this brings forth a second problem; hindsight. Give me four years, I'll tell you exactly why i wrote this, exactly what the answer is. My conclusions are always entirely too positive; this will work out, we are different, this is important, i know what i'm talking about. These are the simplest terms, the easiest resolutions, yet i am never suprised to discover they are entirely incorrect.
Perhaps it's time to cut the shit. I fool around with boys knowing it's a bad idea and desperately attempting to justify the bad idea as a good one. This is where my dissapointment stems from, my inadequacy is inherent to lying to myself. I give up. I am hands up on my knees. I don't need, I don't long for, I don't desire a commitment. I am unsure if i ever truley have, the stress is nearly unbearable. Every boy i've pursued has been for my own personal gain, emotional or otherwise. Anyone who tells you differently is a dirty liar.
So i'm in a car full of liars, driving these liars (minus one) to somewhere else so they can lie some more. Its all a huge act and upon near car crash (of which 85% of these liars are too intoxicated to recall) my brain screams for release. Kill this car of liars, kill this fucking play, kill the world, it's all lies.
But it's not. there is honesty in connection, which is limted and rare. Maybe everything else is bullshit, in which case there is completely no reason to hold back or feel guilty for fucking this up.
I am a lake pretending to be a puddle and i am going to fuck this up.