They say I write best when i’m frustrated,
tired, chew up and exhausted.
but i believe I write best when I’m numb..
when not even the dangling of my legs
makes me feel like a child anymore
I just need some inspiration.
Some fuel, some crude oil,
gasoline, fossil fuel to get my engines running again.
Anyone would think that i’m so totally happy
pigging out like a fat kid,
having my cake
and devouring it too,
yet the truth is,
I’m merely existing
giving up my will to live years ago.
simply going through the motions
stifling my needs and aspirations
to keep my family together.
This could all be bullshit,
maybe I’m extremely happy
and just acting out, being needy
due to high levels of hormones and sexual frustration.
Yet, if i’m so happy,
where is my smile?
where are the warm cuddly feelings of love and contentment that I once had.?
Truth is… I don’t know what I feel
I don’t know what I want.
I do know that it is a bit late in my life to change all that i love about it.
but who knows…cause i’m frustrated.