Nostalgia is a filthy liar that things seemed better then they o

I sleep on my couch. Can't remember what the comfort of my own bed feels like. The only thing that touches me anymore are the cold sweats i wake up to. But still I grip my blanket tighter. Pull it over me harder . as even that falls apart withhhh rips and tears. I try to be more gentle. Softer. Fragile. elegant. white wall's. But lets face it. Im a mime with a painted face . i live in my own world building invisible wall's up to protect me from yours. I stay quiet cuz they ask me to. They prefer me to. They dont say it with words. They use looks. I guess were all mimes. Mocking and mimicking. All of us living in our own version of what we think "reality" really is.