Tired

It’s like now I’m feeling everything for the first time or experiencing it all over again, seeing it with the same innocent eyes that have had me dousing inner cense since the age of ten. Tears run down my cheek but nobody stops them or even kill them while they’re breathing. I’m lost in the world, and I don’t fall despite it being the season of leaving I’m feeling emptier than ever so I ash blunts in the burnt sweater of your ghost, I’m tired of justifying the fact that I feel like trash and having to de-compose all the letters I’ve sent, ironic that I’m asking for people to be there for me when I’m the host. I’m tired of feeling like there’s nothing inside me even though I know there’s all kinds of insight, I’m tired of telling everyone I’m alright when I know that all that I’ve left behind is still on my head and not all is right