We’re so tired. We’re so in a daze. We’re so on this routine that we’re okay with. I wish I had more time to read the books that used to bring my happiness. I wish I had more time to listen to the music that makes my mind go in circles. But I’m so tired. I want to sit and I want to run away from this. So I’ll turn my music up as I walk alone among the trees and faces I’ve never seen and the faces I’ve seen every day. And I’ll understand that those faces are so tired too.

I don’t pay attention to what’s passing me by anymore. My feet just happen to walk to the beat of the music blaring into my ears. I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time for you. I want to have time for this and I want you. I want to keep walking while my hearing slowly begins to diminish. I look at you all and you’re all such beautiful people. I close my eyes and I realize how beautiful you are. You sicken me. I can’t contain what’s going on in my mind, and it never seems to make sense.

New paragraph. Fragment. That’s all that ever comes into my writing anymore. I can’t bring any sort of structure if I have no structure in my mind. You’re making me crazy. I need sleep. I need sleep with you. Sleep with you.

No.

I want to keep listening to this music and I want all of us to just stop our tired, worn out routines and just join together in one single room of some sort. And I want there to be no schedules and no lectures and no bibles that we have to read and no order and no mornings to wake up to. Damn it. I want there to be drugs. I don’t want there to be time. I want there to be freedom. Maybe no clothes. Maybe no fucking nerves and timidness to hold back the things we have to say. Because maybe then I can get what I have to say into actual words and maybe then I can actually tell you what exactly is on my mind.

But oh, no! No! Because we have schedules and things to do and nerves and we’re hiding behind whatever kind of walls we’re putting up. Break down those walls. Why can’t I break down these walls? I put them up so I can very well break them down. Maybe I need your help though. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I need to see that you’re willing to at least break a brick.

This is shitty. This writing has no substance. This has no track to stay on. Maybe that’s good, maybe that’s bad. But I do know one thing: this isn’t publishable. This can’t go in whatever kind of book I want to put together. I’ll be surprised if more than three people read this.

But I don’t care.

I don’t care.

I do not care.

Because I’m not holding anything back from this and I’m letting my thoughts go through my fingertips. And I guess that’s the point. And The Strokes are playing and I’m taking a break that I seem to need every hour of every day.

So who even cares if this is shitty? Because at least it’s accomplishing something. For me, at least. For you? Well I have advice to you. If you’ve read this far you can keep reading. Read this and read other pieces of writing that come in front of you. Just read. If it sucks, it sucks. If it’s good, it’s fantastic. But at least you’re reading. And the world needs more people who read.

And some more advice: Break down your fucking walls. Because if I’m going to start trying, I want you to start trying too.

I’m so tired.