Lost Love Lust

This is me writing bad.

Please ignore if you don’t like me rambling on about my bad day.

Proceed to more profound and quality writing, NOW.

The kind of day where getting out of bed seems like much of an effort bewilders me.

Perhaps its the only day I wake up and truly see myself in the mirror.

An extreme desire to be content has always been present in my mind, but on these days it seems to overwhelm me completely.

The kind of day where everyone asks why I am so quiet, why I am not happy go-lucky.

Frustration and numerous sighs are continuously dancing along while I truly wonder why the hell I am walking this planet, a sense of absence, yet extreme rage that I just can’t get out of me.

Then, I write.

Some people smoke, some people drink, some people cry.

Well, I write.

I suppose you could call it a passion also, but really, its me getting out of my body and mind.

Its the only place where my never-ending thoughts leave me, it is quite funny how if you compare my writing and how I act day by day, you would never say it is the same person.

Nevertheless, all I could ever want is to be in unison with my “daily” persona, but to me, society just doesn’t seem ready. Especially in my situation right now.

I am surrounded by SO many close minded people its not even funny. The people you are surrounded by tend to affect the way you act. I suppose what I am trying to say is that getting used to the U.S hasn’t turned out as easy as I thought it would.

Whoa, dude, did you listen to that new lil wayne album?

Dude, I am getting this insane truck next week, its going to be awesome.

On and on and on they ramble, and frankly, it amuses me, yet a little voice in the back of my mind pushes and pushes along with the ironic feeling that I do not belong here.

I need to be discussing art, life, purpose, understanding, and basic subjects with actual substance.

Not freaking Lil Wayne’s new album.

Whoever said Ignorance is bliss was so very right. It is so hard to try and be a person with substance, when everyone around you is empty.

Perhaps I am pessimistic, but this whole U.S. experience is slowly sucking the life out of me.

I cannot help but feel that way, and I even dare say that Europe wasn’t that great either.

Its not the place, or the people, its me.

And THAT is what is most frustrating.

On most days, I convince myself its my surroundings.

But this is not of those days.

It is the kind of day where I wake up and smell the roses.

I am becoming my own person, and battling with my own self, and the sweet irony of it
is that only I can help myself.

This life.

It plays with you like a puppet on a string.

I sure hope my puppet dress matches my puppet shoes.

Blah.