pen-t
what a feeling it is to have no place to run to to not want to run in the first place it is odd everyday i feel like my bed is where i go to die or exist in sleep as if that was the only way i could let myself survive as if slumber was an excuse to let time pass as if slumber was an excusable way to live and time just washed itself a way in an endless and hopeless repeated attempts of getting up past 10 past noon past 1pm past lunch only to get up and get out and come back to the same place by 4pm and continue dying.
this is where i know how to exist in the covers in darkness in quiet
no tears or cries just a quiet, questionable existence constant question of meaning of what’s the point of it all of dreaming so constantly i have no dreams anymore when i am awake when there is nothing i want or everything that i want out of the question so many questions
where am i alive? in my quiet days and quieter mind it seems as if all these words pouring out are the complete
opposite
of
quiet.
