how?

I really don't understand. I'm just supposed to be myself? I thought that’s what I was doing…what I’ve been doing. Its like I’m dancing some fucked up dance…some steps familiar and enticing, others not-so-much. Is it really me? I'm I that out of tune? I ain’t a dud. I’ve met duds. I'm not a dud...at least I don't think so. Sure...I could do better...but that's not it. Am I just a curiosity to be admired from a safe distance? Someone who looks nice on paper...but in the moment is...difficult to digest?

Now hope just seems pathetic. I'm in a vice.

cake

photo ~ squareamerica.com

It would seem that I've lost my appetite.

last page

~ by Dash Snow

789

I should just go to bed. I should just let this day go and forget this is real. Just a weird, fucked up day is all. But I can’t just let it go. Not my style. So I make it worse. I dig out the corners a little more…stomp down the shit a little more…always room for more.

Now I’m the puppet master who just doesn’t have the will to keep the puppets dancing…but does it anyway. Because its his job. Because its his life. Because he’s a ‘nice’ guy. Because he knows what he is and what he isn’t.

I hate myself for this right now. Even more so tomorrow when I read it in the light of day and have to look at myself in the mirror and think to myself ‘what the fuck are you doing Neil?’ and want to drive my face right through the glass. Instead I’ll hop in the shower and try and have a good day despite myself. I never really saw myself as a loser before…not inside...if there was a loser test, I’m sure I’d score pretty high, but tests lie sometimes...but now what it really means for me is starting to sink in. I see it at work everyday of my life. I feel it around the house. Like a cold slap in the face when I start daydreaming. I feel it in my bones like I used to feel about what could be. I have no idea what I’m doing anymore.

What the fuck?

forever space

On quicksand ground
With vertigo sounds
Blackouts and white lies
And dynamite bones