10am: “I’m gonna clean my room”
10:01am: “I’ll just pick up my guitar and put it over in the corner there while I clean”
12:44pm: *looks up from guitar* “I should clean my room”

It’s funny how many times I think I’ve hit rock bottom, only to have the ground crumble beneath me.

What am I even living for? Because it’s an insult to those who didn’t have a choice about living or dying if I choose to die? Because I owe my parents something for designing this disaster of cells and chemical? Because better that I suffer forever alone than cause temporary discomfort for the few people who know me when forced to address their own mortality through mine?

Gotta keep digging, right? Apologies for the melodrama, but why do we do this? What are we preserving?

The wind has thrown bees into my room, making even solitude inhospitable.

bridges overpasses skyscrapers - gravity advantage - inertia - rushing resistance - feet finally hit the ground - stability - head first - solidarity in stains

All dressed in black. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club badge on The Black Ryder shirt. The Black Angels through black headphones. Black black black like my soooouuuuuullllll.