Because you're working, building a mystery
Something is changing.
I can't tell what. Can't decide what. Can't tell what in this. Can't decide what to tell. I feel it around my rib cage, the lungs, where their bottoms meet my diaphragm. Flows up my throat like smoke, into my tongue, my mouth. I wrote about how sadness is like swallowing stones, like dropping them into the ground again. I wrote about my brother, I wrote about fucking girls, about meaninglessness of bodies. It is hard, I think, to do this. I say what I normally wouldn't, think what I wouldn't, and say less and less.
Something is changing.
Tomorrow, I need to get up and work in San Francisco. Hmmm. So it goes.
I can't tell what. Can't decide what. Can't tell what in this. Can't decide what to tell. I feel it around my rib cage, the lungs, where their bottoms meet my diaphragm. Flows up my throat like smoke, into my tongue, my mouth. I wrote about how sadness is like swallowing stones, like dropping them into the ground again. I wrote about my brother, I wrote about fucking girls, about meaninglessness of bodies. It is hard, I think, to do this. I say what I normally wouldn't, think what I wouldn't, and say less and less.
Something is changing.
Tomorrow, I need to get up and work in San Francisco. Hmmm. So it goes.