Im not exactly sure why im writing tonight. I dont feel particularly expressive and dont really have anything pressing on my mind. or maybie thats a lie. i sang myself to sleep last night. the artist i so easily call upon to excuse my constant insanity has had enough of represion and has decided i need to figure out a way to create in the middle of misery town. and art comes from pain so often but when your stuck in a situation with out outlets thats painfull. what then. what then. maybie thats the answer. ill figure it out and great art will be unto this world. or maybie ill do some real damage to myself by holding it all in. oh. oh. oh. oh. i dont have a world to save. i dont have a reality or disillusion to call upon. im in no fantasy and no hiding place. i am lost ad found all at the same time. how do i exsist. and here comes that familier apathy. we are getting to be such friends these days. its supposed to be winter. its supposed to be snow and im supposed to be all bundled up in my white {faux} fur coat. im supposed to still love him. and never to have been to california. im supposed to still remember how to feel things. anything. somthing. i dont want to do somthing i dont know what it is. i feel nothing yet rebelious. i can tell from the outside that on the inside im sad but i cant reach it. im itchy with the healing process. funny how its the same with emotional wounds as with physical. get me out of here Laura. Let me go.
L
No comments:
Post a Comment