A sad fool off the happy train.

I woke up this morning with the memories of a dream still tumbling around in my head, making me feel sad. It reminded me of what I can’t have. I mean, how can I not crave what makes my blood warm, how can I help but feel like it’s killing me every time I close my eyes and the sweet fruit is bound to some other future. It makes me wanna cry and brings out that self-pitying melancholic drama, but it’s true, it’s tearing me to pieces that I can’t stand my ground and be a man, that I can’t commit to the right path without longing for release. I’d like to, you know, find happiness at just where I am, but the door is locked and I can’t find the key, I can’t even open a window. I sit in that locked room with every argument coming down at me like a mental hailstorm and every word is nailing me to the floor like the sad fucker I am. I feel both mentally and physically like a wreck here, with Lil Waynes “I feel like dying” ringing inside my head like a soundtrack set to break my bones. No, don’t get me wrong now, I ain’t set to leave this plane, that’s not what I'm saying. It’s just that not even writing will chase away the depression growing in my mind. The bolts have locked the chains to the floor, life can’t be lived in any other way; the timeline is set and to break that I’d have to be something so much more than a thieving bastard. I’d have to be an idiot staring into the face of Narcissus and discovering my own image mocking me with self-destructive satisfaction. Man, not even half a Jäger will cure this bitch. Maybe it fades in a couple of days. We’ll see.