I wonder
If this is the beginning of something.
I can't tell if something is starting, or if something is ending, or if something is continuing - and I can't tell which I love the most, which I hate the most, or if I prefer any of them at all. Substitute that 'something' with maybe my life and it'll make more sense.
When you can't differentiate mornings from nights and the rhythm you rely on to keep you in step and breathing starts to jump and shift, you think, "When am I living?"
I CAN'T ASK ANYONE THAT QUESTION.
But I suppose something is off when you notice a gear that wasn't there before in the neat little head of yours. It clicks something when blue leaks down the squares of glass in your windows and into your eyes. That something tells you to jump through one or more of those squares, because what is the fucking point of those perfect little edges?
Take your pick.
I can't tell if something is starting, or if something is ending, or if something is continuing - and I can't tell which I love the most, which I hate the most, or if I prefer any of them at all. Substitute that 'something' with maybe my life and it'll make more sense.
When you can't differentiate mornings from nights and the rhythm you rely on to keep you in step and breathing starts to jump and shift, you think, "When am I living?"
I CAN'T ASK ANYONE THAT QUESTION.
But I suppose something is off when you notice a gear that wasn't there before in the neat little head of yours. It clicks something when blue leaks down the squares of glass in your windows and into your eyes. That something tells you to jump through one or more of those squares, because what is the fucking point of those perfect little edges?
Take your pick.