The lunatic is in the hall

The lunatics are in my hall

The paper holds their folded faces to the floor

And every day the paper boy brings more

And if the dam breaks open many years too soon

And if there is no room upon the hill

And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too

I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.

-Brain Damage

 Pink Floyd

I'm going insane

and I'm rather lonely.

I have a thunderstorm in my head

and I can't hear myself think

call me

Bacardi

Bones sinking like stones

All that we've fought for

All these places we've grown

All of us are done for

And we live in a beautiful world

Yeah we do, yeah we do

We live in a beautiful world

-Don't Panic

   Coldplay

One day, you will wake up in the morning. you wont know what's changed. you wont know why you suddenly feel something in your gut.

a wave of nausea and regret

almost like when you had that hangover the other day from drinking. Swigging bacardi like it was one of those cheap smirnoff coolers. you don't even remember now what you did then in your drunken state. probably something sexual. reduced to a degrading session of making out with people you didn't even recognize anymore, you tried to find passion in what you were doing. and failed. failed badly, and hated it more with each passing moment, but kept going. to find the passion which you know must exist somewhere in your cold heart. you had to keep going. what else was there to do, what else could you do?

you don't even remember why you are here, lying in this nice clean bed in the nice clean world of your parents making, the world which you obviously don't belong in, the world which you always unconsciously hated. the world in which your parents denied everything you've ever said. everything that you've ever believed in.

when you were young, you loved life. you can't remember why.

you can't remember your purpose, and the dreams and the paths you had so solemnly set forth as the perfect plans for your life. your destiny. you can't remember what happened to that smiling face, the beloved moments. why it should come to something so degrading as this you don't know. why you would turn out like this, why you would resort to cigarettes for a cheap thrill, to get away from it all.

your friends.

you don't even know why you hang out with half of them anymore. the animosity between you is painstakingly obvious in every move you make, every thing you say. you hate them. silently, you wish for them to burn and die. but those days must still be these days. nothing can change. you must hang onto every remaining shred, every last frayed thread of that friendship. because, what would you do otherwise? you've never known anything other. so it must go on.

and you'll continue. you'll continue building up your own demise. because it doesn't matter. when your problems catch up to you, when you can't waive them away with alcohol or with drugs or with cigarettes, you'll be long gone. you'll be lying on your bedroom floor in a pool of blood, staining the clean carpet with the inky red fluid still trickling from your pale wrist.

Gray dreams

i wanted to walk through the empty streets

and feel something constant under my feet,

but all the news reports recommended that

i stay indoors

because the air outside will make our cells

divide at an alarming rate until our shells

simply cannot hold all our insides in, and

that's when we'll explode (and it won't be a

pretty sight)

and we'll become silhouettes when our bodies

finally go

-We will become Silhouettes

  The Postal Service

I'm getting restless

somehow, sitting in front of my computer

daily chatting on msn

it's all become so meaningless

nothing's really worth it anymore

yesterday

I sat in my room, quiet, and on my chair

not really moving

for an hour

with the lights off

staring at the gray walls

and looking through my window

at the last vestiges of a setting summer sun

against a cloudy gray sky

just sitting

thinking disconnectedly

about vague issues that don't even matter

trivial going-ons in my life

and I think that might have been the greatest sign

that I'm failing life

now

I'm failing at something I didn't know I had to do

I need to find my niche

or I will pull a Jeffery

and walk into a lake

and end my pathetic life

by drowning

I can't breathe here

I could never breathe here

I won't ever find my place in this society

I am a visitor here

I am not permanent

I need to keep that in mind

before I get hurt

because I manage periodically to fool myself

into thinking that I will belong someday

sometime