I mean, well, what's there to feel shitty about?
There's the girl. The band. The food. The rent. Wine, warmth, love, and LOVE.
What's there to feel shitty about?
So I couldn't write. No words. No songs.
I walked the town whenever I could. Hood up. Sunglasses on. A few water bottles of wine on me somewhere and headphones in and I watched the cars and people and in my head worded and reworded sentences and ideas and nothing. Always coming back to; Isn't it such a nice day to walk?
Stupid fucking happiness. Stupid fucking contentment. At least I had the stinging comfort of knowing it wouldn't last forever. Yes. At least there was that.
What a joke I am.
Walk. Drink. Piss at the hospital or a gas station. Don't buy anything. Hope no one speaks to you because you have headphones in but also because people are tedious and small and trash.
What a joke I am.
