The Late Night Philosophies

I can’t get sick. Now now. I can’t I…. am just gonna curl up and die. Bye guys. If I don’t come back tell the world I died of something awesome, like fighting a pair of lions bare handed while  having pneumonia… or something.

That strange feeling you get when you start to think one of your good friends treats you differently than they treat their other friends, or acts differently when you’re around. And you’re not sure if it’s a good or bad thing, or if it’s even true at all and not just that you’re being paranoid.

Tumblr has a queue limit?!

And I reached it? Fuck.

I wish I could finish a fucking story again.

Or at least a single page. A few coherent paragraphs? Something to show world. But no. I’m trapped here, in my own mind, carefully testing the strength of the bars and walls that keep me in. These chains can’t last forever. But until then I’m stuck writing incoherent fragments of a whole that exists only in my imagination. I know what I want to write, but I can’t seem to make it real. Where has my muse gone?