for you who will never be found. and those who will never be lost.

i write and delete, and write and delete. all too often i fall into the same repetitive cycle, and watch my life passing by screaming to the world "i want to live! i want to live!" and then looking around helpless like a half eaten, lost lollypop, not knowing where to start in a round room with no corners.

stuck, stuck, stuck in godforsaken muck.

if there is one thing i have never felt comfortable with, its being comfortable.

comfortable is boring.

dont you think?

routine is mundane, when you fall into a place where everything is just about hunky dory, i spell it out clearly as D-U-L-L.

ive left boys because of it, ive switched colleges because of it, ive fought because of it.

i need a constant momentum in my life. sitting still give me ants in my pants, and man do i hate ants, especially when i can feel their teeny tiny legs creeping up the side of calf, higher, higher, somehow escaping my whacks, like a minute little perv.

its funny how a very still life can exhaust you until you have to cry because every other emotion is exhausted trying and trying to be or not to be, to say or not to say, thinking up ways to stay or leave or rent or buy and ebay is like a fucking devil emptying my wallet so the DHL guy can come to the doorstep and service me with a lumpy parcel.

man, im a perv.

but im talking about the resistance bands i bought, 5, in different colors for different strengths, with handles and a free door anchor, all for twenty seven dollars, free shipping.

i fall for all sorts of shit.

the point is, i clearly see too many people i know move up-up-and-away and while i sit at a distance, waving my fist at their retreating backs, im screaming to myself "thats supposed to be you, you stupid fuck!"

im also tired of trying oh so desperately to be reasonable with myself. im damn exhausted. my life is in shambles and my feet and hands feel like they have minds and souls of their own, while my brain, on overload and without any cathartic power has lumbered on into a self induced tumor induced coma.

i wanted to run. i wanted to run as fast as i could and for as long as i could.

so i did.

and then my ankle was more swollen than things i cannot mention, and just mere walking made me wince.

so balls to it.

all this drama-mama need to find my muse bullshit.

who really gives a shit?

only me.

yep.

only me.