this box has never been comforting.
the cold wind has never been comforting.
knowing that you have no words inside of you has never been comforting.

but you make do.

the weather from october is i.v.-dripping into my veins and knocking me out mentally. it's creeping into my skull like a deep, stoned sleep and taking me places i've been other octobers. other novembers. decembers. falls. winters.

i can't think of a time that i've thought i was happy until it was too late and i was depressed again. i can't think of a time i was depressed until it was too late and i was happy again. happy is okay, but happy means coming back down again eventually. it means realizing that i cannot stay in one mindset for any given amount of time. depression brings creativity and happiness drives it away.

i think i try too hard.
i think i don't try at all.

everything i write here sounds the same. same shit, different wording.

on the 28th, i'll be a robot.

just so you know.

shoplift, i'm waiting for you.

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