Sloppy

Sloppy

I'm sick of walking around half dead.

Like the parts of me.

The deepest crevasses of my soul are sleeping.

And all that is conscious is this hollow shell.

This shell that's made of flesh and bone and neatly packages by canvas-like skin, that's been stretches way too tight across way too large of a frame. I want to genuinely feel something. Not anger, or emptiness. I want to hug my mother and tell her I love her. And i want to make my bed just to make my father happy. I don't want to turn around one day and realize that they're gone and all this time I spent dwelling in my own self anger and teenage angst, I could have spent with them. Food shopping with my mother or letting my dad show me how to use photo shop. 

I could have everything in the world and I still would have nothing without my family.