Slept in again?My night

Slept in again?

My night habits are getting the best of me

And you're not the man

I imagined you'd be when I was young.

I can't just blink the fatigue away; I sit there for a minute.

Check Twitter: I'm addicted.

I have an addictive personality.

Go downstairs, brew a cup of coffee.  I'm addicted.

Eat oatmeal and a banana.  Bananas make me feel sick to my stomach.

Fight it back and get in the shower.  When I get older,

I tell myself, I will have a very nice shower.

It's one place where I don't have to worry about anything.

Get out, wipe the fogged mirror.  When will this acne leave me alone?

Brush my teeth & scrub my tongue until I gag.

Saliva falls from my mouth; I'm disgusted with myself.

Get dressed: I no longer care to impress those around me.

Dress nicely because I lie to myself all the time.

Headphones tuned in, world tuned out.  It's all I have to look forward to.

I'm in class now.  I forgot to read ahead...again.  My laziness costs me.

I get my quiz from friday back: a 60.  Begin self-hate.  Why couldn't I just study?

Take careful notes.  Check twitter in the middle of a lecture.  I sit front row: he can see me.

Rinse and repeat: regain some sanity by listening to music in between classes.

Finally get home.  Eat whatever is easy to prepare.

I sit down and decompress.  I decide to do whatever homework is due the next day.  I decompress.

 

 

Meet up with Mike.  We do some drugs: I'm addicted.

Everything I hated about myself changes: I'm a genius.

We watch Django,

we talk about the traditional white fairy-tail being black

we free-style rap and laugh; I love doing this.

We take a drive; I'm very careful.  We play more music.  I love doing this.

We meet up with some friends

drive out to a field: we talk about movies

you know, cinematography, your favorite writer, favorite scenes,

they ask me about physics and I explain it

I'm great with metaphors,

I'm amiable and invigorated.

We laugh so hard we cry.  I'm addicted.

I drive Mike back.  We listen, wordless.

We are children of the world: blissful in our ignorace.

I get in bed.  I dread my alarm.

"I am not the man I send to class in the morning

tired and confused."

I drift off to sleep.

 

I dream about knowing who I am.

Because to me it is a dream

And the reality I am torn in is terrifying

Is this what everyone goes through?

Or is this just the construct of my own mind?

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