There was a time when the world was an oyster, and I sat there relishing in the complex flavors, the cold meat. It was beautiful, everything. But I was lost, and maybe that's what made everything so real. The caution of not knowing where the fuck I was.
It's awareness. It's attention to detail, and the details of the day to day, the different everything. The girls, the beds, the world's cities and the small towns.
Now everything's the same. Like life's turned on a dime in the split of an eye, and I write in clichés now.
The hunger is gone, replaced by a loss of appetite. I've beaten the feeling out of me with shear workload, and the body's gone numb. I've succumbed.
I've lost the voice in my head, he's run off and left me, all alone. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with my heavy eyes and buzzing brain. I've never worked so hard with nothing to show for. For what? School? A certificate? It was a whim. Fuck me. Fry me. I always pick the most carnivorous ones, it seems. And look at me now. The sleep won't find me, and there's no comfort in the food, and everything feels so far away.
Alone, yes. But alone we find strength. I'll persevere. Yes. That's how it will be. There will be a time, like a lucid dream soon, like I'm floating to the moon, past the stars and the stratosphere, to the top of all this clutter and mess of it, and I will find peace You'll see. It's going to be a breeze.
