Sore back on solid mattress.
Thoughts drifting where I know they shouldn't go.
The mid-summer heat sinks awfully deep.
It appears I fear more than I like to show.
I'm feeling low.
I'm feeling beaten down.
We're always searching for new ways to disappear and for quick escapes from all our troubles here. Cheap distraction from the rusty cage that we've allowed this place to become.
I scrawl this small reminder simply for the sake of my stability and sanity: this island's dressed up like a coffin, but that doesn't mean that it will always be.
We're always searching for new ways to disappear and for quick escapes from all our troubles here. Cheap distraction from the rusty haze that rots right through this place when we run.
I know at times you feel there's nothing more for the few grew too fast.
There are times when I'm inclined to side with that, but I know that home's more an internal state than the byproduct of a birth place, and it's sad that you can't recognize that fact.