Mind racing in a thousand different directions
Feel like I just took a handful of speed and I want to punch walls until my hands break and bleed
Can't shut those fucking voices out of my head telling me to blow myself up
Don't know why I go there, especially when everything looks so bright and beautiful
But here I sit and I can't sit still
Here I stand and I can't stand still
I have no reason to feel this way and yet here I am. A loser. A fuck-up. A hater.
Want to slash my face until I'm scarred and bleeding. Want to rip my nuts off and throw them on the floor
I don't know how...
2 comments:
Sounds like that Tourguide fella.
Except Rambler keeps it compact, since he's been writing a lot of poetry, and it's gotten much better.
Don't know where you wrote this, LA?
For a guy who hates the beach and the mountains, la-la land's perfect blue skies just bounce right off you.
I aspire to be a loser. It's a big step up from crippling, mostly psychosomatic pain.
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