Astronaut.
Astronut.
Astral nut.
Nuts in space.
The univere is our mental ward.
I am bones and muscle, skin and cartilage, I am hazel eyes and red lips, legs and breasts and a broken heart. I am an emotional masochist, I love subconsciously sabotaging my own happiness because security can only be found in familiarity and I am starting to get familiar with this feeling of detachement and cold heartedness. I am only as strong as I look, which is...I'm not even sure what I look like, I haven't seen my face in such a long time, and I paint it every day to make sure no one gets to see it before me. What am I again?
My heart is as bipolar as a mental ward patient and that is probably where it belongs for now, a refugee in a catatonic state deep inside a war plagued country. Don't wake me up, I am very happy sleeping my downs away, and when I'll awake, I'll take another happy pill and get on with my day, it'll help glue that goddamned smile to my face. How are you so normal? I can't seem to do that.
Heartbreaks on ecstasy never seemed to hurt me one bit, so maybe it's really the answer to everything? Here, take another one, this round's on me! All we do right now is procrastinating, telling ourselves we can always be sad tomorrow. Yeah...we can do that for the rest of our lives and the day we die will be the day we overdose on sleeping pills because we told ourselves we can sleep off our drug down.
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