the drought.

Seclusion plagues me. in a room full of people, those I’d be interested to know, those with great stories and funny jokes I’d love to hear; in a classroom full of people dying to be distracted, on a train, or on a plane where conversation lingers and a stranger awaits the meaningless words you have to offer; even in my home, with family … seclusion plagues me. I long for some human interaction, but there seems to be an invisible force preventing me to let anything wonderful in or a see through filter near my mouth that wont let me say the right thing; more importantly, to be who I truly am … whatever the fuck that is. I feel as though a little birdie is in my head, right in my ear, whisper beautiful words of tragedy in my ear. But my eyes, my eyes see a beautiful life that that birdie said I never could have. I wanna kill that little bird; kill him & take his fucking wings. Seclusion plagues me.