That Obscure Object Of Desire
It’s like these days I really don’t have much to write about. had some voices in my head but tried to block em out. This is just a little something I wrote to get my voice out. I remember when it was 3 am and I had to let it out. I let it out and I told you and you tried to help. Tried to help me see something that was beyond myself. A possible way out of my personal hell. I always wanted escape but I never knew how to sail. And those seas always gave me more than 6 ft. One day I feel it at my ankle, the next I’m in too deep. It’s obvious now. 23 with no passion. Who the fuck said what that kept me from rapping? 180 albums that I claim to love, and not a single record to really pull me from the mud. My own self doubt + my lack of a father figure + a lack of family connection killed any kind of affection that would’ve kept the protection I needed to avoid apathy. I’d rather just escape from the drama, and that’s a part of me. Probably a good thing my friends didn’t do drugs. Because I would’ve been strung out and hung out on somebody else’s rug. I feel like I might have been sheltered too much. Maybe it was just my temperament, too much passive. Over thinking everything, issues way too massive. I try to see dreams but nobody wants to buy them. Nobody wants to sign them…so I’m starting to see less. You don’t use it you lose it, and I’ve lost it for some time. I’m trying to reconfigure out what the hell is mine…or what can be. Visions of life that I can’t see in real time. What is reality anyhow? Is it in the mind? It’s all in your head. So work out the creases like the lines in your bed. I don’t know if this is a problem, but it’s a problem, it’s true. I can’t seem to take my mind off of you. If I had something to fill the gap inside of me, this would probably not be, but look at me, here I am. And here you are.