Hurricane
There's so much I feel like saying and no way to say any of it.
Yesterday was so sharp and bright and crisp. I wish I lived somewhere where everyday was like yesterday. I went for a long walk in the forest by myself and I came out onto the high desert and the sun was shining and the snow was so white and every single bush was covered with glistening ice crystals. I had to close my eyes because in my mind that's the way things are when they're perfect. I pretend to take pictures of places and I smile for the non-existant camera and I hope nobody knows I'm taking pictures for my head. I have to remember the perfect moments. I have a whole album of perfect memories filed away deep in my mind.
Summer days. Fall days. Sunsets. Snowstorms. Cigarettes and warm breezes. Driving at night with the windows down. Killing time. Pills and forgotten feelings and tears. Dark bedrooms and lingering pot and smoke curling in the shadows up the walls. That one song that fits perfectly for that one moment. And all the things that are so terrible and surreal that they're perfect as well.
Addicted to the memories and the feelings.
I'm existing, I guess. That's all I can do. I can't drag myself out of it. I'm trying and trying but I can't. I'm so fucking reliant on the uppers and the stimulants that without them I don't have a reason for anything.
And Nobody Even Noticed.
Yesterday was so sharp and bright and crisp. I wish I lived somewhere where everyday was like yesterday. I went for a long walk in the forest by myself and I came out onto the high desert and the sun was shining and the snow was so white and every single bush was covered with glistening ice crystals. I had to close my eyes because in my mind that's the way things are when they're perfect. I pretend to take pictures of places and I smile for the non-existant camera and I hope nobody knows I'm taking pictures for my head. I have to remember the perfect moments. I have a whole album of perfect memories filed away deep in my mind.
Summer days. Fall days. Sunsets. Snowstorms. Cigarettes and warm breezes. Driving at night with the windows down. Killing time. Pills and forgotten feelings and tears. Dark bedrooms and lingering pot and smoke curling in the shadows up the walls. That one song that fits perfectly for that one moment. And all the things that are so terrible and surreal that they're perfect as well.
Addicted to the memories and the feelings.
I'm existing, I guess. That's all I can do. I can't drag myself out of it. I'm trying and trying but I can't. I'm so fucking reliant on the uppers and the stimulants that without them I don't have a reason for anything.
And Nobody Even Noticed.