good days

i’ve been doing good, i say through the static on the phone; listen to my voice play back a thousand times, and wish it were on the radio. i worked myself sick the other day, so i got some sleep, and in the morning, the nausea had mostly gone away, but i was still exhausted. i guess i’m used to that these days.

i’ve been keeping busy. working all the time, and waiting, begging, for someone to tell me to stop–and i won’t, obviously. but i guess sympathy is always nice, or at least it is in my mind. so i spend too much time, alone in my room, shuffling words on a screen, and thinking about my life. go to sleep late, and wake up early.

you’re doing good, they assure me, and i feel the praise seep right down into my bones. you’ll go far, they promise, and i hope it’s true.

and i don’t know what i’m talking about, don’t have a clue where to start. can’t even figure out what’s happening outside my bedroom door, let alone inside my stupid fucking heart.

so burn my past like looseleaf paper, and watch it go up in smoke.

i’m doing good. just… a bit tired. because it’s like that sometimes, you know? and tomorrow, i’ll wake up to the rising sun, and watch the world make itself anew, and think that maybe, just maybe someday, i’d be brave enough to do that too.

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