I sleep early to see you the next day I really don’t care what my friends say The time we spent Is amazing Having laughs, sharing jokes ***** I only see you ones a week Why did you have to be so unique How can someone like you have me so weak.
It’s funny I used to read and write Laugh and type But now I can’t I’m falling And as the frustration grows Mountainous procrastination as I try to remember My mind can’t stop writhing
My body moving Head saying yes Sentences halved and mashed and forgot Frantic boredom As I fill filled space The wave of papers Books and words That I’ve neglected Hit me greater than before The yells, tears, bad grades, hurt Take me all at once Under water, out again Some day I’ll drown
I stopped working on this for a while and just finished it. Try to spot the stylistic difference from the times I stopped and started.
I have been having a lot of dreams lately about running away from something
but also heading towards somewhere at the same time, in every dream there is a destination that I never make it to, before I wake up & maybe that is my subconscious way of telling myself I am looking for something, wanting something, that is unattainable right now, that all the running I’m doing is clearly a waste of time and maybe if I stopped trying to get somewhere for a second, I’d have time to see where I already am
I squander my time I wander and wind between the pillars of despair in my mind crawling my way through mazes made by “Phases” in my mind trying my best to find out what it means to be normal. I hear that storm calling out all the time thunderclouds battering my mind the darkness that rolls in on all sides. My smiles come and go with the tides betting my life on rolls of a dice.
Who is it that deicides that I have to feel this way? Who is it that decides the worth of my life? who is it that decides I should feel this pain, or behave astray or be taken away from my mum: when I was young. I don’t have the power to be okay, I don’t have the power to end my days or let go of my pain.
why can’t I be like them? why can’t I think about cars and tv? why do I think of stars and poetry, or the feel of wet grass beneath my feet?