Lately I’ve been wondering, I’ve been figuring out. How to live, how to breathe, how to tame this fire inside of me. I’ve been everywhere, yet nowhere, I’ve been happy and I’ve been sad. I’ve been searching for answers and I found some of them in my own head. They say practice makes perfect, but being practical is hard. Theoretical concepts are all I know, among emotions I overly show.
I struggle with time, time that’s left, time that’s passed. I find it hard to accept, the flow of life, acknowledging nothing really last. I try to grasp, but I don’t even get close. So I try to capture it in words and songs, try to keep it close to home. But again, I ask myself: “Where do I live?” Do I live at home, or am I living inside my mind, am I stuck in my own damn head?
I focus on details, the littlest things in life. It keeps me grounded, in anxious times. Making it perfect, by making it worth less. Focus on my senses, try not to think. Thinking makes it worse, creating desires, hungers and thirsts. I don’t need it, but I do.. I don’t want, but I need you. Why is everything so binary, why can’t it just be easy?
I’m happy with where I am, but I feel out of place. Maybe I always will, wherever I’ll go. It’s a feeling I’ve always known. I can keep running, but where am I running from? Is it craving, is it love, is it people, is it lust?
I try to organise, but there’s too much to analyse. Pictures, words and numbers, feelings, dreams and wonders. I’m disconnecting, slowly yet fast and I try to comprehend it, but I can’t take it, not like that.
I keep loving and hating, holding on to grudges, I keep waiting and waiting on myself and others. There are too many songs I wrote down, too many times by heart broke down. Broken things don’t heal, fixing is an illusion. It’s all settled in the background, always an infusion.
I see it all in perspective, every side of the story. Could either be positive or negative, a poison or a remedy. I know everything, yet I know nothing; I’m aware of both. Both ways, sideways, crossroads, every road is unknown.
I’m tangled up, strangled up, chased by my own fantasies. I’m creating and I’m destroying, I’m lost in my own memories. I’m falling, I’m soaring, I’m flying, I’m dying. Am I living, am I surviving, or is it something in between? Is it a common disease, is it one in a million or is it just something typical about me?
I need answers, but the questions are unclear. There’s fog in my point of view, there’s lies in my own truth. Keep running and running, running in circles. Bumping into walls, tripping upon the surface.
Let it go, let it be, let all that was caged be free. Don’t hold on, your hands are bleeding. The rope is tight, silence’s creeping.
I’m reading, but I’m not remembering, I’m storeing, but I’m not processing. I’m trying, but I am tired. Of life sometimes, other times of fighting.
I am the same, but I’m different. I’m changing, but I’m still me. Stop defining, defy the ego. It’s not worth the suffer. Sell your thoughts and declutter.
Now close your eyes and sleep, life is good, stop those bad dreams.