frustration and loneliness
2005-07-01 8:45 a.m.
lately, i spend my days looking for cover, writing social commentaries on the backs of my eyelids, tearing at the skin on my hands, and worryingmyself to sleep.
lately, i can't write anything that hopes to heal me, i can't produce any sort of beauty, i am chewing at frustration as though it is a masterpiece, full of sentimental longing
for a man i should not turn to.
lately, my insecurities have learned to hold me, tight and cruelly comforting, and what i rely on in myself is reversion, is return to this illness
and i'm swaying, i'm collapse enacted.
lately, i've pulled my hair, but i can't move an inch, i stretch sentences into conversations, and nothing can be fixed, nothing can be integrated
into a solution that will fit.
so i struggle and i twitch my way through life. i stumble and i trip over the advice of friends, of relatives that have begun to give in, and i have nowhere to lay my head.
i have nowhere to lay my head.