On the nights that I lay, with my heart aching in my throat
I scrape against the walls, bump into strangers, just to feel less alone.
When I'm awake i enjoy the solitude, but my dreams vibrate differently
and I keep chasing the sunny days with a shady coma.
But it never rains, nothing to clean the slate
so it all stays, like a pig finding a way to organize it's filth.
Each day the same the numbers, same colours and different strangers
A couple of them even appear to be friendly.
I'd organize my associates like plastic army men scattered around the room.
A couple of my favorite ones, played with the most and left somewhere visible when i grow older.
The unfortunate ones locked away or tossed in the trash with paper, old food and receipts.
This is life fortunatel, a series of awkward pauses and violent but happy memories.
I just want to listen to music through the headphones of the globe, I'll mix their screams with the cries of laughter. I'll cross over from obese greed and drown it in tragedy. I'll take one shot to a building and ignore the millions of bombs we drop to compensate for our more expensive lives. I'll bask in the glory of being able to eat the African families weight, malnourished and all. I'll parade around in clothes I don't need, expelling exhaust. "everything i could say would feed into insignificance"
Welcome to my Journal. IGNORE GRAMMATICAL ERRORS, or become my Editor