I don't recall a single care,
Just greenery and humid air.
Then Labor day came and went,
And we shed what was left of our summer skin.
On the night you left I came over,
And we peeled the freckles from our shoulders.
Our brand new coats so flushed and pink,
And I knew your heart I couldn't win,
'Cause the season's change was a conduit
And we'd left our love in our summer skin.
I want to write something that beautiful.
But, since I can't, I'm just listening to it over and over again.
I hate this song, but I love it. It's just too sad.
END.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Don't wanna end up a cartoon in a cartoon graveyard.
I'm trying. Really, really hard.
Too hard, maybe.
I need some sort of guidance, but what else is new?
I really am quite happy right now - just a little confused.
I intend to write a lot more tomorrow. I would like to continue writing now, but I'm only just realizing how late it is.
I used to hear nice little phrases in my head. I would hear the middle or the end of a story and not know where to start, or one line to a song that I didn't know how to write, or I would feel something that I wanted to let out through my fingertips in a poem but not know how to articulate it. Writing was like dreaming to me. It took so little effort, but now writing is more like falling asleep after drinking a huge cup of coffee: you toss and turn and your eyes feel heavy but your body can't relax.
Music used to inspire me, but now music is just work.
Work, work, work. I'm 21. Should I be having a good time? I'm not sure. I think I might already be going through a midlife crisis - does that mean I'm going to die when I'm forty-two?
I sure hope not, but there's no way to tell. Maybe I was actually having a midlife crisis in seventh grade and I'll die when I'm twenty-four. That wouldn't be surprising, based on what kind of kid I was in seventh grade.
Joking.
I'm just a horse stuck in the quicksand. Help is on the way soon, but I just have to remember not to fight too hard or else I'll sink faster. I'm happy anyway. I really am. Just a little stressed out.
Relaxing and taking a deep breath is the only way to make it through college alive.
It's the only way I'm going to make it out of this stupid quicksand alive.
END.
Too hard, maybe.
I need some sort of guidance, but what else is new?
I really am quite happy right now - just a little confused.
I intend to write a lot more tomorrow. I would like to continue writing now, but I'm only just realizing how late it is.
I used to hear nice little phrases in my head. I would hear the middle or the end of a story and not know where to start, or one line to a song that I didn't know how to write, or I would feel something that I wanted to let out through my fingertips in a poem but not know how to articulate it. Writing was like dreaming to me. It took so little effort, but now writing is more like falling asleep after drinking a huge cup of coffee: you toss and turn and your eyes feel heavy but your body can't relax.
Music used to inspire me, but now music is just work.
Work, work, work. I'm 21. Should I be having a good time? I'm not sure. I think I might already be going through a midlife crisis - does that mean I'm going to die when I'm forty-two?
I sure hope not, but there's no way to tell. Maybe I was actually having a midlife crisis in seventh grade and I'll die when I'm twenty-four. That wouldn't be surprising, based on what kind of kid I was in seventh grade.
Joking.
I'm just a horse stuck in the quicksand. Help is on the way soon, but I just have to remember not to fight too hard or else I'll sink faster. I'm happy anyway. I really am. Just a little stressed out.
Relaxing and taking a deep breath is the only way to make it through college alive.
It's the only way I'm going to make it out of this stupid quicksand alive.
END.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
