There is this part of me chasing this hole inside my chest. This black hole is a part of me since my early teens. I don't know that I can function without it and on some parts I don't know that it allows me to be productive. I just want to sleep and breathe and not feel it. It's weird the better my art does the more I feel it. It's like I can't let myself feel great about being a success. I worked so hard to get to this point and I can't live in the smile. What is wrong with me?
I going to roll a joint, sit in my favorite chair with my cats and dog and watch "Where the wild things are" for the 100th time with a pen and a sketch pad. Wish me luck.
Ended up in the bathtub with the iPad and a one-hitter. I still love that movie.
