i held your head under water and watched your bubbles slow to a stop. your haunt is evolving. you replace people i know. taking their place and using their stories as your own, and when you tell them to me it's like i'm hearing them for the first time. all this after having fallen asleep on my laundry. barrel of warm and cool and tired. exhausted, really.
i remember when i was little, my brother and i would take our mattresses and overlap them and make forts, using the blankets as coverage. we'd tunnel from one end of the room to the other with toy guns. we had the best hide and seek games ever. and we loved playing in the dark. building blocks to the roof. army men in pools of water.
i was in a huge hotel last night. and felt so out of place. so i left, and i walked until i found a quiet place. i felt so strange there.
...
so i run home
to my big soft bed
to lay on my laundry
my room smells of blackberry and plum
i smell of peppery spice and dolce and gabbana
dim lit
walls whitegreen
sun kil moon
writing, scratching out
moving on means:
not writing how you feel
not talking about it
not thinking about it
not living in the past
and i delete what i write over and over again
because these entries and lyrics serve as reminders
reminders that i don't want or need
but writing and playing just comes naturally to me
and that's just a part of who i am
i'm not a math person.
i'm an english person.
although i did once do 100 math problems in 66 seconds in elementary school. all perfect. school record. yeah i rock.
i just can't stand thinking anymore.
i can't stand my mind.
i want out.
e for escape.