(no subject)
i want to write something brilliant.
something someone will read
and really think about.
i want it to be intelligent. new.
haunting, even. but
all that keeps coming are these
tired, cliche words. the same feelings
i swallow every day, and the ones i embrace.
i want to be unique, recognized, desired.
hell, i want everything. but i want nothing, too.
i want to lay in bed all day and marvel at the ceiling.
complete and complacent with the simplicity of my being.
i wish i felt something. anything to assure satisfaction,
minus tears and intensity and the inability to go on.
why can't it be carefree like before?
why does this all have to take so much fucking effort?
and why am i still so scared that everything is falling apart?
i do this to myself.
something someone will read
and really think about.
i want it to be intelligent. new.
haunting, even. but
all that keeps coming are these
tired, cliche words. the same feelings
i swallow every day, and the ones i embrace.
i want to be unique, recognized, desired.
hell, i want everything. but i want nothing, too.
i want to lay in bed all day and marvel at the ceiling.
complete and complacent with the simplicity of my being.
i wish i felt something. anything to assure satisfaction,
minus tears and intensity and the inability to go on.
why can't it be carefree like before?
why does this all have to take so much fucking effort?
and why am i still so scared that everything is falling apart?
i do this to myself.