THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
Everytime I think I'm done being angry, it just comes back in waves.
I always think that, finally, for once, for the first, I'm just going to be okay. And then I just do the same things and everything builds back up.
It's like you wake up, and all the fur is rubbed in the wrong direction. And all the extra noises and all the extra touches and all the extra voices hurt. And you can't stand anything and yo scream at people because your're just trying to outsound everything else. And you just hear that song and you could cry for salvation.
And, other days, I'd swear they were ripping the fur right out and you'd touch me and I'd die.
I hate vacations.
If I just keep moving, I don't have to think about it and I'll be okay. I feel so stagnant and infected.
I wish I could explain the value of starry nights in fast cars and how other people's songs are the only one's that ever really mean anything in situations of earth shattering revelation.
I can't really breath with it all pressing down on me.