I still look at the sky with naive wonder.
As the week wraps its grimy fingers around me, I don't have much else to do.
I think I am running out of things to say, running out of that weird, adolescent rage, running out of laughter.
It frightens me.
I don't want to calm down that much.
I react less, and it feels like there's a fevicol-strength bubble wrap around my head, protecting me from myself.
Yesterday for once, for a couple of hours, I felt like I would explode.
The bubble wrap came off, and my thinking disintegrated.
Seemed like I stepped out of a noiseless place.
It hit me like a tornado.
I thought my ears would bleed.
But nothing happened.
I held on to my sanity, slept and prepared for one more meaningless day.
As the week wraps its grimy fingers around me, I don't have much else to do.
I think I am running out of things to say, running out of that weird, adolescent rage, running out of laughter.
It frightens me.
I don't want to calm down that much.
I react less, and it feels like there's a fevicol-strength bubble wrap around my head, protecting me from myself.
Yesterday for once, for a couple of hours, I felt like I would explode.
The bubble wrap came off, and my thinking disintegrated.
Seemed like I stepped out of a noiseless place.
It hit me like a tornado.
I thought my ears would bleed.
But nothing happened.
I held on to my sanity, slept and prepared for one more meaningless day.
