Jul 2013
i am so tired
of staring at these four walls
that define my existence
but whenever i leave them
i wish i was
in their stranglehold
embrace.
everyone wants to know
why i won't do this
or why i don't do that
or why i can't sleep
and i always tell them
that there is nothing wrong with me at all
and that would be true
if the small movies
of my childhood
didn't play against my eyelids
every time i try
to rest my tired
spine
daddy,
i am not
fine.
of staring at these four walls
that define my existence
but whenever i leave them
i wish i was
in their stranglehold
embrace.
everyone wants to know
why i won't do this
or why i don't do that
or why i can't sleep
and i always tell them
that there is nothing wrong with me at all
and that would be true
if the small movies
of my childhood
didn't play against my eyelids
every time i try
to rest my tired
spine
daddy,
i am not
fine.
"There was once a boy named Milo who didn't know what to do with himself — not just sometimes, but always.
When he was in school he longed to be out, and when he was out he longed to be in. On the way he thought about coming home, and coming home he thought about going. Wherever he was he wished he were somewhere else, and when he got there he wondered why he'd bothered. Nothing really interested him — least of all the things that should have."
When he was in school he longed to be out, and when he was out he longed to be in. On the way he thought about coming home, and coming home he thought about going. Wherever he was he wished he were somewhere else, and when he got there he wondered why he'd bothered. Nothing really interested him — least of all the things that should have."
