I wish there was a little bit more to this kind of place.
Sometimes, I can't even verbalize half the things I'm even thinking, and when I try to walk the streets to inspire me to have a better brain; a better head on my shoulders,
all I see are monotonous drawings that aren't even accentuated with any type of vibrant colors.
Qualifying into a glass display case that could shatter in moments at any time due to a 1.5 second earthquake.
Just like that your masterpiece is dirty from the concrete floor - from the drywall dust.

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I feel as though I'm not original anymore, but unoriginal.
Like, I'm a walking contradiction and a hypocrite even to myself.
Hypocrisy is an illness, that there is no cure for; we might as well all have cancer.
I wish I could be astounded by my mind again, back then it had so much clarity.
It wasn't speckled with toxic thoughts. It wasn't sloshing around in my head as if I didn't need it to survive.
My thought process is a photocopy of Edgar Allen Poe's minus the trippy drugs.
I need my own. I need my own nest.
I need healthy little eggs that soonly turn into ovoids.
They start to gain weight, until they finally hatch.
Metaphors are so spectacular.
THAT'S RIGHT. I need my own nest. My mind needs to lay eggs (my brand new thoughts) because I'm not satisfied, even with my own mind.

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I think I need out of here.
I want people to stop being shadows and start looking like flesh.
Can't we all make this more exciting?
Stop revolving our lives around wheels?
Around aged newspapers, and past maps?

Can't we just go to a place where nobody knows us?
Nobody gives a damn.
Either way, they won't and never will.