as it turns out, staying inside these walls while the world passes us by isn't the best for our creative minds, or is it? 3 am often hits me like a brick and is met with tired eyes and yet another restless night. crumbled, torn up pages collect in the corner. the contents will consist of unfinished pieces and disconnected thoughts; acting as a representation of my muddled mind. and it could very well be the wine, but this state of being is beginning to feel all too artificial. its almost as if we were programmed by our creators only to be destroyed. and those of us who lack conformity are sent down an assembly line labeled as ‘defective.' Our box will read, "Lonely twenty something-year-olds with mild to moderate ******* addictions. CAUTION: has a temper."
But darling, don't be fooled: for we are all the same. We may be hiding behind our individuality or lack thereof, but we are, in fact, only pawns in a game.