distant

If I could look beyond your face
And photograph your hidden place
Would I find you smiling in the picture
I don't know what you want
Because you don't know,
So what's the point of asking
You're almost happy
Almost content
But your head hurts
Far too many ways to go
We learn so much but never know
Where to look
Or when we should stop looking
I can love the whole of you.
The poetry I stole from you
And hide inside my stomach
You're almost happy
Almost content
But your head hurts
It's easy to get lost in you
And fall asleep inside of you
I want to return to you
A reason to be here
A reason to be here
No I don't know what you want
And you don't know
So what's the point of asking
You're almost happy
Almost content
But your head hurts

I completely feel that way about myself most of the time. And then I wonder... is life just never enough... have I made my standards far too high or just not gotten far enough towards my goals yet? I guess it's a matter of time before I figure it out.

I need work to start, I'm getting severe cabin fever in this house with nothing but blood relation and an outsider who almost seems to fit better into the puzzle than I do. To quote a great song, "Jack Kerouac, on the road and in my head, i need irrelevance, intelligence, a new tattoo and a lot more sex."

It's fucking time to be happy, I've got my ticket, I'm on my platform, so when does the train come in.