This is a warm up class for the plane crash that I call my self-esteem. Soon I will return to a life where I'll under eat and fail to meet my potential, but for now I'll admire this fast food pile up that's starting to appear "art-like."
I love my new entourage of camouflage. We crash parties with pastries and daisies. My best friends are: my laptop, my hoodies, my medication, and my dog. Together we lead lavish lifestyles. I only seek sanity within this tight knit group... and though they may lack human qualities, they keep me from falling to my false alter-ego.
I am on the fence when it comes to reality and sickness. If it weren’t for them I’d be a shit talker with a sluts sex drive. But the skin that wraps around me is putting up a good fight. I can feel myself slipping and this isn’t exactly the blast that I wanted. This isn’t the path that I wanted.
I have been under this cloud before and I'm shaking with fear of a relapse. A record I helped write is helping people and giving them hope... but now I need to write another one just so I can have some to...
I am calling all cars once again, but I don't even have their new numbers. I know I'll make it out of this, but my body just might not make it.
This is me... reminding you to apologize for the things you can’t always help... because you never know who you are letting down.
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