How do people just live?
I’m convinced the world around me has been made up by my own mind and it’s all just withering away.
How do people just live without a constant feeling?
Whether it be pain, or fear, or sadness, people just live.
Meanwhile I am consumed.
How does anyone do this?
Life is exhausting.
What consumes me?
The nagging of the past, the pressure of the future, and the constant frustration of an impossible task : quieting my mind. To cope I try to remind myself that simple does not mean easy.
Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts. Too many thoughts.
If the past is something that can only exist when brought to the present, then why does it feel so real?
If everything is a construct of the mind then what is the point?
Trying to be happy means keeping my mind in the right time zone : the present.
The present feels impossible to grasp with all these thoughts. A jumble of all the words in my head. Simple does not mean easy.
Smoking Unicorns & Drinking Candy Canes
This vapor tastes like yesterday,
and this drink smells like rage
with every breath I take
All I do is sit in the smoke,
hallucinating words that sit in this cloud
Flying so high,
I may never come down
A once mythical creature,
has since become all too real
Fear of closing my eyes,
for it may disappear
Christmas treats come months before,
numb my body, my lips, my gaze
Make me dizzy with every sip,
until I cannot remember how I got to this place
All of these vices,
no reason to give them up
They bring me closer each day,
and my time will surely lessen as I refill my cup
What are the chances?
What are the chances that I met you,
living in a world colored in blue.
I have no authority over my heart,
only an image of us that has been torn apart.
The blue has bled into all of my clothes,
giving me nothing but migraines and drives on empty roads.
What are the chances that we are both here,
in this world that breeds nothing but fear.
Fear and loneliness push us around,
but I have no where to look now except the ground.
Statistically we have beat the odds,
based on the probability of us being here at all.
What are the chances that I ever move on,
I guess it doesn't matter because it's the end of the song.
a scaled fish
I breathe water,
you breathe air.
You had doubts,
mine were never there.
I shut down,
You had your reasons,
mine you could not decode.
I am a Pisces,
You are a Libra.
You were dealing with crises,
and I with my cerebral.
Yes I am the fish,
but you have all my scales
So I've forgotten how to breathe underwater,
because you aren't there.