So here I am, singing to myself and throwing a hackey sack at the picture of my ex on the wall...
She never did like balls in her face.
So maybe this is my way of getting back at her
from beyond the grave of my heart,
or maybe I just wish I was Steve McQueen.
I already am, but my prison isn't real,
nor is my great escape.
Whatever happened to that handsome son of a bitch?
Is he dead or something?
With the mind numbing thump and catch of my hackey sack, I'm lulled into self reflection, one of my worse habbits. And I just have to ask myself
Is it always going to be this bad?
Were they right when they said highschool is the best years of your life?
Am I going to die bald and lonely?
Is there a single marketable aspect of my psyche?
... would you buy me?
Smoke fills my lungs.
But at least its not my brain.
Some day...
That's what they all keep telling me.
But I'd prefer to hear "some day soon."
Divide and conquer.
My concentration from my ambition.
My mind from my soul.
My heart from my body.
Good day, and pray to whatever great good that may or may not exist-
For that some day soon.
