small text. idiotic thoughts.
There are so many minute pangs.
I'm thinking idiotic thoughts, once more.
Very idiotic thoughts.
So I used small text for idiotic thoughts.
One minute, I'm fantasizing about my future life in technicoloured gypsy romance--
The next I'm wondering when my survivalist instincts will kick in.
And then there's the great all consuming thought of loneliness.
I'm one lonely kid, I've come to the conclusion of that...thus far.
I sit in coffee shops and read thoughts. Anyone's thoughts.
Either in written or evanescent emotional flash form.
I realize that I shouldn't worry.
That I probably shouldn't take up smoking just to give myself a vogue sense of slow slucide.
That I probably shouldn't drink anymore than the occasional glass of red wine, nor should I drown my sorrows in pure vodka.
I realize that listening to Autolux on repeat is essentially all that I can do.
I should not be complaining. I really should not be complaining. There is so much negativity in the world, yet the zenith of my concern is directed towards my so called life.
I really shouldn't worry.
I'm fucking upset and tired.
I'm starting to dislike this constant barrage of being "upset".
I'll watch my house of sand blow away with this wind,
I'll calmly collect the shells underneath the rubble.
I will simply be the mermaid outside of water, with
hard red exterior.
Lobster claws and a broken strand of pearls--
These are important to me like so many
of these ephemeral moments that you take for granted.
I love, I love, I love.
There is the overwhelming crush of murderous waves
against these innocent beaches
These are the notions of a scatterbrained heart.
Show me my shards in your reflective pools.
I'm tired.
On top of it all, I use dime store dictionary vocabulary without restraint.
Gyeah, please let this be a spoke in my menstrual cycle?
I'm thinking idiotic thoughts, once more.
Very idiotic thoughts.
So I used small text for idiotic thoughts.
One minute, I'm fantasizing about my future life in technicoloured gypsy romance--
The next I'm wondering when my survivalist instincts will kick in.
And then there's the great all consuming thought of loneliness.
I'm one lonely kid, I've come to the conclusion of that...thus far.
I sit in coffee shops and read thoughts. Anyone's thoughts.
Either in written or evanescent emotional flash form.
I realize that I shouldn't worry.
That I probably shouldn't take up smoking just to give myself a vogue sense of slow slucide.
That I probably shouldn't drink anymore than the occasional glass of red wine, nor should I drown my sorrows in pure vodka.
I realize that listening to Autolux on repeat is essentially all that I can do.
I should not be complaining. I really should not be complaining. There is so much negativity in the world, yet the zenith of my concern is directed towards my so called life.
I really shouldn't worry.
I'm fucking upset and tired.
I'm starting to dislike this constant barrage of being "upset".
I'll watch my house of sand blow away with this wind,
I'll calmly collect the shells underneath the rubble.
I will simply be the mermaid outside of water, with
hard red exterior.
Lobster claws and a broken strand of pearls--
These are important to me like so many
of these ephemeral moments that you take for granted.
I love, I love, I love.
There is the overwhelming crush of murderous waves
against these innocent beaches
These are the notions of a scatterbrained heart.
Show me my shards in your reflective pools.
I'm tired.
On top of it all, I use dime store dictionary vocabulary without restraint.
Gyeah, please let this be a spoke in my menstrual cycle?