Its a manic sickness and its happening again and again. I can’t seem to forget you, you were too real to be true. Now it seems that you’ve move on, you’re happy with your life drinking and partying hard. You promised me promises that were empty, that just slipped away. I can’t seem to elicit a solution to put myself in a better mood whenever I’m alone in my room, on my bed. The bed, the fucking bed. Bed is where I shouldn’t be, its like a coffin of misery, and I’ll magically find my Ipod somewhere beneath the sheets and there the cycle repeats itself, time slowly eats itself up. This is what I’ve caused another, and I feel for him, the rebound. I’m in a state of discombobulation and I still need time.

 

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