I came, I saw, I'm over it.
What once held a slight spark of creativity and interest, has been extinguished.
I'm a sitting duck for mediocrity all because my brain is too weak to function and my heart stopped palpitating.
I love the lazy life of boozing, loud music and friends but lately I've fallen victim to weed, routine and eight to four at a vegan bakery.
This change of scenery hasn't been working out like we thought and the best thing to come out of it is a new face that's filled with excitement when I'm at the door.
Is all the bullshit worth it? Should I run away and disappear?
Why is it that we strive so hard to make friendships but once any bit of effort is involved we throw in the towel and say fuck it?
I can't resolve any issues and my writing has suffered because of it.
I'm a wingless bird tripping on a telephone wire, waiting to be executed via electricity.
Some, dumb, luck, keeps puffing everything up but once it has come we'll all be chum.
