sleeping and waking and mumbling and weeping.

All things that I'm not doing right now.

I'm tired.
But I'm not sick this time.

I'm just tired of pretending. I'm tired of trying to come out into a world that seems to tell me to fall back down. It asks me why I'm even trying. Then it spits right in my face some more.
I feel like I am left in the dust. Sitting criss cross in my jeans and not even caring if they get dirty this time.
I can't find any point in washing them.

No matter how many times I wash them, they'll always get dirty again.
And I can't see any beauty in washing your own pants.

I'm tired of people dying.

I'm scared I'm too tired of trying to cut myself open for people.. only to find that I'm left out in the sun again.
I don't want to shrivel if they're not gonna care.
I've got too many wires running through me and not enough spark.

I miss all that talking.
I miss having something to say.

I miss talking about nothing.
I like being happy. But I kinda miss the fun.

I want it to rain again like a Thursday full of fireworks.
I wanna be wet again.


I wanna be kissed on the forehead again.
I want people to know what "we" means again.
I want to have my bum spanked again.

But not just by anybody.
That's what makes it hard.
Stale bread.
Jolly ranchers.
Mambas.
Bricks.
I guess if you're picky, you can't beg.
And I'm quite specific because I'll only have him.

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Even if I don't say it.