nowhere man

burning all my essays. not even mother-fucking-ironically. just burning them.
i've killed several forests with the amount of trees immma be pulling down with my revision. dear jesus. i'm over it.

essays fail. charcoal, born ruffians and v.woolfe win.

also; watching the time flip past until the excuses get tired and so do i, so i go to sleep and wake up somewhere, sometime else.
everything is still there.
i'm not quite.

at home it's sunny and at school there are people. inside there's food and tv and books and movies and outside there's cigarettes and cats and bicycles and coffee to buy and people to see. even in the study room, though there are books and pencils and computer and charger and practice exams and highlighters, there is also a space on the floor where one could lie in the foetal position and psychoanalyze one's dreams or hypothesize about the meaning of the universe or think about what to eat for lunch.

if one was so inclined.

lets leave here. drop everything and just leave. i don't even like suitcases. or clothes on backs. just, nothing. there's so much to say and so little time. oh my.