My housemate and I sometimes “play a game” where we choose random words out a book and make a story out of it. Tonight it took me down the nightmare path again..:
I know you’re all talking about me
I know your busy body gossiping ways
What you don’t intimately know
Is my midnight
What I’ve witnessed
What I’ve experienced
Why I look so haggered all the time
But aren’t they fascinating , you ask?
You should have them interpreted, they say
WELL THEY SUCK, OKAY!!
It may be nothing to you but it’s not nothing to me
Never knowing if I’m awake or not
Alive or not
I have no sense of selfhood
I hate my bed
Anything shaped like it
I really hoped it would stop soon
But my brain has retained this way of life now
It’s been too long
People have their happy clappy bohemian yoga ways of thinking I should fix this.
IT DOESNT WORK, OKAY!!
It has no relation. It does not help. It never will
Socialising is physically painful
But I put on that jazz mask
Because I have to
Will I find my four leaf clover?
No.
If it was there it would have shown face by now
There will always be an incident where my subconscious engineers something even more horrific.
I’m sorry if this was depressing correspondence.
It was heavy for me too.
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