i hate the sound of a ticking clock. a literal time bomb that i cannot stop. hands run in circles and end up home. with no room along the way to falter or roam. i refuse to be the second hand, minute hand or worse. i refuse to fall prey to the clock’s awful curse. i will run wildly and into the wind, while time is forced to cease or suspend.
I don’t want to wash my hair. I don’t want to have kids. I don’t want to get a real 9-5 job. I don’t want to pay taxes. I want to drive around, lay around & dick around. I want to write. Laugh. Sing. Paint. Love. I feel like I’m suffocating. Which is weird, because I always thought that once I fell in love in the truest sense, then my life would be complete. I...