Shake It Out
I'm so exhausted.
I can hardly walk straight; I can hardly think straight; I can hardly look straight. Everything's spinning around and around, and, even when I grab hold of the nearest object--someone's shoulder or a chair--the world still won't stop moving.
Friday wasted in school, sick and tired with a headache. (Where am I?)
The whole Saturday spent in a hospital room with a depressed 22-year-old. (Good karma?)
The first part of Sunday going to some fair--hot, tired (again), and on the verge of just laying in the middle of the street or hiding under a rock (I made a fool of myself). The middle portion slipped away with a visit to the hospital and watching some guy, whom of which I share near-identical blood with, sulk and glare. (What did I do anyway?) Visiting family, acting as if he died, came up to me all afternoon with words of comfort and sorrow. (He's not dead, and I'm not worried.) The final part of Sunday? Yes, about that: I think I might sleep it all away. (Don't bother calling when the day breaks the night-sky.)
I don't want to go to school in the morning. I don't want to hear everyone's angst. I don't want to deal with the fact that I acted stupid in front of that kid. I don't care because it doesn't matter.
Everything's going to be fine, and I wish people would listen to me for once.
Without Another Word,
This one.
I can hardly walk straight; I can hardly think straight; I can hardly look straight. Everything's spinning around and around, and, even when I grab hold of the nearest object--someone's shoulder or a chair--the world still won't stop moving.
Friday wasted in school, sick and tired with a headache. (Where am I?)
The whole Saturday spent in a hospital room with a depressed 22-year-old. (Good karma?)
The first part of Sunday going to some fair--hot, tired (again), and on the verge of just laying in the middle of the street or hiding under a rock (I made a fool of myself). The middle portion slipped away with a visit to the hospital and watching some guy, whom of which I share near-identical blood with, sulk and glare. (What did I do anyway?) Visiting family, acting as if he died, came up to me all afternoon with words of comfort and sorrow. (He's not dead, and I'm not worried.) The final part of Sunday? Yes, about that: I think I might sleep it all away. (Don't bother calling when the day breaks the night-sky.)
I don't want to go to school in the morning. I don't want to hear everyone's angst. I don't want to deal with the fact that I acted stupid in front of that kid. I don't care because it doesn't matter.
Everything's going to be fine, and I wish people would listen to me for once.
Without Another Word,
This one.