G
Gimme sumthin
Guest
I guess this goes in words.
I took a bunch of vicodin and just started to write what came to me and was on my mind. It's not meant to be good or structured, just random babblings of a drug induced teenager.
I feel the pressure in my head lightening. Slowly, but surely.
My legs are relaxing, almost tingling as if I could feel the electric impulses constantly running through them.
This is nice, this feeling. It’s not just physical. I wish I had someone to share this pseudo, yet lovely bliss.
Thinking is becoming dull. I’m not a caveman just yet. But any useless thought trampling on my everyday concentration is gone. Music is beautiful; I wish I could make music. I've always wanted to make music but could never stick to it. I don't even like holding a guitar, but that's all I’ve ever had. I want to make people feel something through a means of expression not natural to the human body. Typing is getting to be a task. I feel my head floating up to the asbestos ridden ceiling. I plug my nose to keep the dust out, this room is dusty, and it always has been. Even my eyes feel more relaxed. I want out of this house, but I have no where to go right now. I could go for a walk, but the thought of experiencing my hood revolts me. I’ve lived here 13 years. Since I was four. This city is like a prison too me. I'd like to blame everything on this place. Every insecurity that has taken over most of my life, my lack of ability to express myself coherently, my lack of proper relationship. I have so much to say, but I've never known anyone to give me the time. That's a lie. I never gave anyone the chance. I don't trust people, they've proven to me over and over like a.........
Before I got any further my sister came over to tell me that she was pregnant The timing was perfect, yet bad at the same time.
I took a bunch of vicodin and just started to write what came to me and was on my mind. It's not meant to be good or structured, just random babblings of a drug induced teenager.
I feel the pressure in my head lightening. Slowly, but surely.
My legs are relaxing, almost tingling as if I could feel the electric impulses constantly running through them.
This is nice, this feeling. It’s not just physical. I wish I had someone to share this pseudo, yet lovely bliss.
Thinking is becoming dull. I’m not a caveman just yet. But any useless thought trampling on my everyday concentration is gone. Music is beautiful; I wish I could make music. I've always wanted to make music but could never stick to it. I don't even like holding a guitar, but that's all I’ve ever had. I want to make people feel something through a means of expression not natural to the human body. Typing is getting to be a task. I feel my head floating up to the asbestos ridden ceiling. I plug my nose to keep the dust out, this room is dusty, and it always has been. Even my eyes feel more relaxed. I want out of this house, but I have no where to go right now. I could go for a walk, but the thought of experiencing my hood revolts me. I’ve lived here 13 years. Since I was four. This city is like a prison too me. I'd like to blame everything on this place. Every insecurity that has taken over most of my life, my lack of ability to express myself coherently, my lack of proper relationship. I have so much to say, but I've never known anyone to give me the time. That's a lie. I never gave anyone the chance. I don't trust people, they've proven to me over and over like a.........
Before I got any further my sister came over to tell me that she was pregnant The timing was perfect, yet bad at the same time.
