This isn't working out.
Im sick to death of this fishbowl life. its all stale and dead, the weather's rotten, and the perpetual heat only serves to speed up the decaying processes which curse this city, this town, this state, with everything it has. i've got to get out for a while, i have to do something about all of this garbage, it's all starting to wear too thin, and the floors so weak, i think im all too capable of falling in. I want to break away but for some reasons i can't i can't stand these surrounding, i have to leave as soon as possible, yet i'm going to hate every second that im away, all the possibilities that i'm leaving behind, sure i'll be back, but what will be left to come back to/ none of this is constant, it's all going to change, and when im back will i remmember any of it? is any of this worth stressing over, is any of it going to remain? i can't say, you can't say, none of us could possibly fathom what could happen over the summer, what could happens or the rest of our lives. yesterday is history, today is a discovery, and tommorrow will always be a mystery. Sound confusing? get used to it love, you've always confused the hell out of me, and the only solution i can see is to sit indoors quietly until it all comes down. When it does, when i see a result, then i'll pull us from the wreckage, but until the concrete foundation is set, im nnot going anywhere with this. This is neither poetry nor eulogy, this is truth, in its rare state of clarity, im sick of tired cliche's and disparities, i am confused, but i don't need your charity, not even your sympathy, its not you its just me and when i find the time to unravel this mystery, i'll soon find the answer that's always eluded me.