Saturday, May 14, 2005
I can't move my mouth. Everything is closing in on me. I don't want to lie to anyone; I love the truth. Don't send me out again, I can't keep this up. It's been so long. I don't want to keep going like this, where everything is muddy and full of silt. Not too long ago, I thought everything would turn out ok. It's not ok. Must all hours come to this? Too often, I've assumed I can handle life; I can't. Must all hours come to this? Every night, I sit up late, trying to justify my state of mind. I'm not a liar, but I am a madman, it seems. All hours end the same way. No sleep can settle this, it's only punctuation between the days of my discontent, and the lonely torture of the evening. I know most of you want to help me, but I'm failing fast. What I want, need, and receive never seem to end like the hours of my successes. I walk amongst you, but these thoughts travel more, and move faster than you can imagine. All days lead to night, but must all my hours end in questions?