every day has become the same.
i wake up and pretend it makes sense.
i black out every time i get up
and the world becomes a simple blur of sound;
my eyes are shut when they are open.
i get dressed and wear a baggier shirt than the day before.
i like the material hanging off of me, i feel free.
suddenly the world is solved in a white tshirt,
black to display the art around me.
i create.
i take comfort in hiding in bathrooms,
i stare into the mirror and see a foreign person
who each day looks the same..
and i pretend it all makes sense.
write this.
smile at him.
talk to her.
i look outside and all i see are promises that i say i’ll keep.
when i deal with myself, i lose all motivation
distractions become desperation
and the twisted turns of my mind
quickly become replaced by the sad, rough sound of acoustic guitars
echoing through my mind like they were born to do so.
hands push them through my mind, coating it in
saturated colour
and finally they explode through my ears,
and i hear what makes sense.
and i see what only i can see.
beauty.
true. honest. beauty.
and then, i try to write that down;
suddenly words don’t make sense.
black and white letters race through my mind
scribbled onto lined paper.
two seconds later, i’m back to where i started.
lost on the road where there’s no ending..
and there’s nothing left to do
but pretend it all
makes sense.

reblogged from artpixie
originally posted by artpixie