a long way down.
i made the mistake of falling asleep this afternoon,
of having a faulty alarm clark,
waking to find its night again.
the quiet lonely night.
to find that my skin is still cracked in places.
that the headache of the day hadn't faded,
only strengthened.
quite unlike my mentality,
which wavered until i numbed it by working out.
but still.
winter is a drug that puts me to sleep.
its a horrible addiction,
a depression.
already thinking about the next time i go home,
because its a little warmer there.
and i can pretend i'm on vacation.
barely.
i'm such a wreck, i feel. can't even control this feeling.
i want to cry so bad.
i want to break down again and again, and fall asleep on the rug on the floor.
and wake up to my phone ringing, it'll be that long lost lover again.
and i'll listen to records over the line, tangled up in blue, till i fall asleep again.
and then i'll sleep for awhile, till spring. and then i won't need to sleep anymore.
sometimes i wonder about rapids, why no one there really feels love. i've decided it has to do with the paper mills, that they're all just drinking bad water, or breathing bad air, or feeling bad things. that's sad too. somebody should fix that problem really.
can we stop pretending?
can we really just shut the fuck up,
because who is going to remember who said what about who in a few weeks?
some people are devoted to waste-of-time ideas. i swear.
i'm developing film tomorrow it should be good.
of having a faulty alarm clark,
waking to find its night again.
the quiet lonely night.
to find that my skin is still cracked in places.
that the headache of the day hadn't faded,
only strengthened.
quite unlike my mentality,
which wavered until i numbed it by working out.
but still.
winter is a drug that puts me to sleep.
its a horrible addiction,
a depression.
already thinking about the next time i go home,
because its a little warmer there.
and i can pretend i'm on vacation.
barely.
i'm such a wreck, i feel. can't even control this feeling.
i want to cry so bad.
i want to break down again and again, and fall asleep on the rug on the floor.
and wake up to my phone ringing, it'll be that long lost lover again.
and i'll listen to records over the line, tangled up in blue, till i fall asleep again.
and then i'll sleep for awhile, till spring. and then i won't need to sleep anymore.
sometimes i wonder about rapids, why no one there really feels love. i've decided it has to do with the paper mills, that they're all just drinking bad water, or breathing bad air, or feeling bad things. that's sad too. somebody should fix that problem really.
can we stop pretending?
can we really just shut the fuck up,
because who is going to remember who said what about who in a few weeks?
some people are devoted to waste-of-time ideas. i swear.
i'm developing film tomorrow it should be good.