thedarkharlequin

i'm to clean. I smell to fresh, to taken care of.

being homeless scares the shit out of me. to not have the comfort of a place to call my own. to not own all this shit which I believe actually owns me.
I know it's stupidity, to want abject poverty and starvation.
and I don't, really, it scares the ever living shit out of me to lose this comfort zone I've built for myself.
to actually have to try at life. to fight to live, rather than just live, such as I do now.

I'm sure anyone who has actually lived that life would punch me in the head for being so stupid as to glorify that life.
but i'm tired of this life. work for money, live in studio, own stuff. hang out with friends, drink, lie to myself that i'm going to find a girl that will suddenly make it all better. tell myself I'll go to school and find a purpose.

i feel like i'm dieing on the inside. i just feel decayed.
why can't I find a better distraction, like everyone else seems to do.
something to keep my mind off the fact that I'm going to die. something that I want to get done before I die.
I don't want to die and just have been pretty decent at guitar hero.
where's my fight club.
where's my imaginary friend to blow up all my worthless shit.

i've horded all this stuff. technology, books, cloths. the cloths I wear cause I think they make me look good, or their funny, and might help me get a girl. what would I wear if I dressed for me? generally nothing at all, except when i'm cold.

the videogames distract me. most of the books I've read, I keep them to show guests that I can read. posters, art, statues, figurines, all horded to be displayed to no one.

and a bunch of furniture to keep all this crap off the floor.

i make so much money, and have so much stuff, yet live so little.