...it's so fitting.
People keep asking me if it's working, if it's making me happier. If I feel better.
What am I supposed to feel like?
What the fuck is "better"? I don't even know anymore.
Not giving a shit about anything is what got me here; what made my mom cry.
And it's right back where I am. I can't get away from it. You can't rip it out, because you don't know where it is. You can't paint over it because the paint color is just as ugly, or too fucking thin. You can't turn the music up loud enough to cover the ringing it leaves in your ears.
Do I think I'm the only stand up comedian that's ever felt like this?
All I ever want to be was one of those cool kids that read Sylvia Plath. Why can't it just be as simple as buying a book? Why can't I get past the first page?
If I had more statements up there then questions, then maybe I could get behind myself and tell inner Von to shut the fuck up. But she is loud and mean; and apparently it doesn't matter what I think anymore.
What am I supposed to feel like?
What the fuck is "better"? I don't even know anymore.
Not giving a shit about anything is what got me here; what made my mom cry.
And it's right back where I am. I can't get away from it. You can't rip it out, because you don't know where it is. You can't paint over it because the paint color is just as ugly, or too fucking thin. You can't turn the music up loud enough to cover the ringing it leaves in your ears.
Do I think I'm the only stand up comedian that's ever felt like this?
All I ever want to be was one of those cool kids that read Sylvia Plath. Why can't it just be as simple as buying a book? Why can't I get past the first page?
If I had more statements up there then questions, then maybe I could get behind myself and tell inner Von to shut the fuck up. But she is loud and mean; and apparently it doesn't matter what I think anymore.