There's a quiet awkwardness wherever I go.
It is mine, I know that much.
It is contagious, I also know this.
It comes along with my self loathing, another thing I am aware of.
This night is empty and ill.
My mind is blank, and my stomach is turning.
I rest my lifeless, tired fingers on the keyboard, searching the room for something to trigger a topic.
I have nothing to write.
Everything is Nothing
You can brave decisions Before you crumble up inside Spend your time asking everyone else's permission Then run away and hide.Oh you can hold her eggs. But your basket has a hole
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