I haven't been able to write because my words aren't matching my actions, I sometimes let myself wander a little too far from my own path. It's like playing with fire and I always know it, but there I go, testing the metaphorical waters again. It's like I throw caution to the wind, fall on my face, and do it again. It's insane, and people think I'm a quick learner, but that's only because I fall harder and faster than most people do. Rock bottom is like an old closet I throw all all my shit in, but I make myself sit in it, darkness surrounding me, I give in and go with it. Every time I go a little further, deeper into that hole, and it's a little harder to come back from, I sometimes wonder when it'll be that I don't. And that isn't a question, it's a statement, but that goes with the territory, yo.
Winter turned to spring and although I've been waiting for it I hardly noticed, having been preoccupied with my own selfish demons. It's my self-deprecating nature that'll have me take and swallow a handful of pills to kill the pain. And it does, but only temporarily, and I wake up the next day with a hangover and a pocket full of disdain. I didn't go that route this time, but I'm left with the agony that is this life and no way to deal with it. I stand alone like the leaveless trees that line the streets, bare and burdened, but deeply rooted and unmoving. I often feel almost as if I've traded it for my soul.
What is this life? I don't where the hell I originally saw it, but I ask myself all the fucking time. Things will look up, they always do, eventually. This shit I write here really doesn't mean anything, they're just thoughts that pass like the seasons. Which seem to be a little crazy.
* I started that a few days ago when it was 70° and right now it's snowing.
