I am a a little concerned because I don't seem to be inclined to socialize and I am sorry and I am sad and I can feel my tightened nerves and I know that if I were to descend they wouldn't care and this rambling is uncharacteristic of me but I do not care and I am trying, trying. I lied. I am not trying. I was trying but now I am just typing because the thought of rejection makes me squirm and I will go back to listening, or perhaps only hearing music and I will always hear the horns of elf land and if you read this and understand this then we must be kindred spirits.
the concreteness of life bothers me
the brick walls that surround my strange existence
in a land that is not my own
and yet I am not sure what is happening
I am scarily blur today
maybe that's a good thing
this is a horrible poem
but it's okay
it's okay to write horribly
it must be okay
tender buttons was okay
surely this is okay
I feel like punching and crying
and compulsively listening to Ed Sheeran
probably hasn't helped with that.
there must be mist
and shadows and things not quite seen
I will not give in to nothingness.
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