after a 2 months haitus, it’s back to the grindstone.

unfamiliar with the sudden lack of freedom and luxury of nua-ing my days away it suddenly seems scary that i’m back to a 5 days a week, 9 hours a day office job.

the future seems bleak, like it’s hardly even there at all. i try to reach out for it but somehow it keeps whisking further and further away, escaping my clutches. just seeping right through my fingers, volatile.

i hate instability. i need something solid. keep myself grounded.

you weren’t a flower, you were just weed. nothing special. but you’re a drug, and i’ve found i’ve gotten myself addicted, but i’ve lost my supply.