There is nothing in my head.
There is fluff in my stomach and heavy on my heart.
My eyes are full of wet and my lips are falling down.

I am not what I want to be. I am disappointed in me.

I cleaned the house and I ate my lunch and everything is still empty. But at least it is clean.
I am trying not to turn on the tv, it will rot my brain. It will rot your brain and make it empty and you will never get away and you will be stuck there forever.

I think it is too late.

It is too late for everything, because the oven is clean but I don’t plan on baking and the shower is clean but I don’t feel like washing. And I don’t have any money but I keep on shopping.

Oh Shakespeare, you’re boring me. If I just finish this scene than I can paint my nails.
Reading and rereading, I did not take that in, I do not know who you are or what you are saying because you are speaking backwards.

If I just go outside than there will be loud. My ears will be full; I will concentrate on my face and not on words. Then it will be time to make dinner and I will make dinner in the clean oven and then I can watch tv because it will be night.

Soon I will have to go back. They will be there, with all their productivity and glowing and talent. You will think I am shy but it is that I have nothing in my head.

There is nothing in my head. It is all in my heart.
I will go to sleep and wish it were the opposite.

When it's that dead part of the day between afternoon and evening
After lunch but not quite time for dinner so you can't chase it away with food.
Usually a Sunday.

Or at night when you're the only one awake and have already watched a film.
Something needs to be done coz you don't want to sleep
But it's too late for another.

The big picture slaps you in the face and puts you in your place
And the atmosphere feels like Lost in Translation

You sit down,
And look around
And end up writing something like this.