cornelius

sometimes i have trouble figuring out where i end and the world begins. most days i'd rather not attempt to smile and take part in everyone's little game, the refusal then acceptance, the feigned interest, a ritualistic act for no reason other than routine. everything is less shiny than it used to be, tarnished, the strings pulled taut, their hooks digging in.

why bother? what's the fucking point? who's that knocking at my window? whoever it is, it's someone i don't care to see... it's probably someone who was tricked into thinking they know who i am, thinking i am without addictions, without bad habits, without ammunition. if nothing lasts forever, then why is love the exception?

i'm can't be the only one who's given up. i'm not the only one afraid, with a fear of commitment, a fear of intimacy, but with a longing for sex, for recognition. is it that i don't like them or that i don't like myself? am i re-interpreting or repeating? will it stick this time or is it going in one ear and right out the other?

i think i'm trying to fuck up... i'm maintaining, but there's no excellence, no ambition. i'm lackadaisical and i just don't care anymore. for everything i've accomplished a small part of me wonders what it would look like destroyed, smashed into a thousand itsy-bitsy pieces. something holds me back, talks me down, negotiates me into another working week filled with false plesantries.

i wanna run away, jump onto a boxcar, maybe set myself up in a unabomber-style shack until i get it all figured out. i'd die out there in my obi-wan exsistence, with a song in my heart and my hands behind my head. i'd come back a different person, but the color of my eyes would stay the same, i promise, and my vision would be clearer than ever.

boo radley had it all figured out, in that reclusive, super heroic kind of way, and really, that wouldn't be so bad after all.

-bobby