Christmas fucking eve
Ah, Christmas. One of my most loathed time of years. Dad's coming back in 3 days, mom's being all bitchy as per always, another year, another Christmas, so fucking typical. Everyone else is always busy with family and whatnot, so I always end up just staying home. My relationship with my immediate and not-so-immediate family is bad to non-existent at the best of times, and holidays never make it any easier. They say that home is where the heart is, and if so, then I ain't home right now.
So many thoughts going through my head, no one to talk to, no where I can vent to. I would write, except there's an incomplete song in the book that demands to be finished before I write anything else in it, so I'm writing here isntead. I find that it is impossible to be as open on here, than in my own book. It's a different feeling when you know that no one will read what you write, as opposed to having it available for everyone to see. Sometimes I look at everything that's happened and I wonder how the hell I am where I am now. I've been listening to a bunch of random things today, Iced Earth, Godsmack, Jimmy Eat World (don't ask), Nine Inch Nails, Econoline Crush, Silverstein and Sevendust. Yeah, I know, it's all over the place and there's no method behind the madness.
I don't even know what I want to write, if that is in fact what I want to do. So much on my mind that I can hardly pick out any of it, almost like grasping at thin air. I don't even know why I'm writing right now, I can't even put my mind on a single thought and keep it there for a second. There's no use complaining to myself, nothing gets done unless one goes out to try to do something, but apparently, trying isn't good enough. So I'll stay here, accompanied only by the darkness, and the shadows that are the very essence of me.
~Damon
So many thoughts going through my head, no one to talk to, no where I can vent to. I would write, except there's an incomplete song in the book that demands to be finished before I write anything else in it, so I'm writing here isntead. I find that it is impossible to be as open on here, than in my own book. It's a different feeling when you know that no one will read what you write, as opposed to having it available for everyone to see. Sometimes I look at everything that's happened and I wonder how the hell I am where I am now. I've been listening to a bunch of random things today, Iced Earth, Godsmack, Jimmy Eat World (don't ask), Nine Inch Nails, Econoline Crush, Silverstein and Sevendust. Yeah, I know, it's all over the place and there's no method behind the madness.
I don't even know what I want to write, if that is in fact what I want to do. So much on my mind that I can hardly pick out any of it, almost like grasping at thin air. I don't even know why I'm writing right now, I can't even put my mind on a single thought and keep it there for a second. There's no use complaining to myself, nothing gets done unless one goes out to try to do something, but apparently, trying isn't good enough. So I'll stay here, accompanied only by the darkness, and the shadows that are the very essence of me.
~Damon
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home