Your Eyes Have Opened Almost
I think I've gotten to the point where these things shouldn't bother me anymore.
But they do.
And I curse myself.
Curse curse curse.
Trigger.
Pull.
Bam.
I don't even understand myself. Wallowing in unfounded worries.
Or perhaps they just depend upon the moment.
Either way. I've been contented. I want to crawl back into feeling entirely and totally comfortable and not let go for anything. Not right now.
I like the blues in the pull of these guitar chords quite a bit.
And I think I might take a nap today.
There's but two pages left in my journal which has spanned over my summer, hot as hell, and into the winter and the beginning of this year. It's somewhat depressing.
If I'm so damn articulate, why can't I figure out just the right words to explain why I tend to act like this sometimes. Find a way to write down the problem. So everybody understands. Without any metaphors.
I need that title.
Or the song maybe.
I'm sick of standing against walls and not being able to express just what I see.
If I had a cigarette, I'd go smoke outside.
But I have no cigarettes.
(Bad for me anyway.)
The rain would be so lovely as it struck against the paper sides though.
I'm gonna smile and call this okay.
It'll be okay.
Crash.
But they do.
And I curse myself.
Curse curse curse.
Trigger.
Pull.
Bam.
I don't even understand myself. Wallowing in unfounded worries.
Or perhaps they just depend upon the moment.
Either way. I've been contented. I want to crawl back into feeling entirely and totally comfortable and not let go for anything. Not right now.
I like the blues in the pull of these guitar chords quite a bit.
And I think I might take a nap today.
There's but two pages left in my journal which has spanned over my summer, hot as hell, and into the winter and the beginning of this year. It's somewhat depressing.
If I'm so damn articulate, why can't I figure out just the right words to explain why I tend to act like this sometimes. Find a way to write down the problem. So everybody understands. Without any metaphors.
I need that title.
Or the song maybe.
I'm sick of standing against walls and not being able to express just what I see.
If I had a cigarette, I'd go smoke outside.
But I have no cigarettes.
(Bad for me anyway.)
The rain would be so lovely as it struck against the paper sides though.
I'm gonna smile and call this okay.
It'll be okay.
Crash.