I’m conducting a train filled with bad habits lately. Relying on items of substance to displace my restlessness and moments of misery.
I don’t call this recovery, I call this covering.
I just hugged my mom and told her that I love her for the first time in a long time.
Everything seems like it’s falling into place and I’m happy.
38 days, anticipating like it’s tomorrow. I need something to look forward to.
I’m gone, you ain’t gon’ bring me back. So gone, couldn’t tell you where I’m at.
It’s another late night, stuck in the routine of advanced alertness while the neighbors are asleep. I feel like I’m rubbed so much rawer at this hour, more aware of the subtle clues that surround me. I kind of like it though. I know it’s just me thinking, and nobody can change the conclusions that I settle on. Nobody’s even up to try to think about anything to do with me. It’s nice sometimes, like tonight. Sometimes.
