spun

people have lots to ask about national service and i have enough to say, but i dont think i want to write about anything that's already taking up my life against my will.

your heart is a river that flows from your chest/through every organ/your brain is the dam/and i am the fish who cant reach the cord./ivory lines lead./oh, instincts are misleading/you shouldnt think what you're feeling/they dont tell you what you know you should want

on sunday i go for my brown interview and im scared to bits because im so afraid they'll see right through me and into my mediocrity and wannabe-aspirations.

all i see are dark grey clouds/in the distance moving closer with every hour/so when you ask "was something wrong?"/that i think "you're damn right there is but we can't talk about it now./no, we can't talk about it now."/so one last touch and then you'll go/and we'll pretend that it meant something so much more/but it was vile, and it was cheap/and you are beautiful but you dont mean a thing to me/yea you are beautiful but you dont mean a thing to me

im tired and nowadays i dont know what im thinking. i want to be able to find the words and sentences i could just a few weeks back, but the mental deprivation im going through now doesnt make me draw from my reserves but rather starves me. i look down at my sketchbook and all i see are funny squiggles and shapes dont make any specific or capacious sense. so all i do is to write lyrics that i keep hearing in my head. oh dear.

i roll the window down/and then begin to breathe in/the darkest country road/and the strong scent of evergreen/from the passenger seat as you are driving me home./then looking upwards/i strain my eyes and try/to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites/from the passenger seat as you are driving me home./"do they collide?"/i ask and you smile./with my feet on the dash/the world doesn't matter

i look forward to many things but i miss so much more. same old same old