All day staring at the ceiling
Making friends with shadows on my wall
All night hearing voices telling me
That I should get some sleep
Because tomorrow might be good for something
I'm talking to myself in public
Dodging glances on the train
And I know, I know they've all been talking about me
I can hear them whisper
And it makes me think there must be something wrong with me
Out of all the hours thinking
Somehow I've lost my mind
I find myself, more often than not, relating to the lyrics of "Unwell" by Matchbox Twenty (the two verses above) ...most prominently the accidental mutterings to myself publicly and the bouts of sleeplessness. Of course, I'm not that off the top (e.g. I don't make friends with shadows nor do I hear whispers) but I do feel the instability creep far too close to my core cerebral functions for comfort.
Obviously, I'm not crazy... just a little unwell? Would that be a fair thing for me to say? Would that just be indulgent and totally unmanly? I guess oftentimes I can be quite the whiny little bitch... add to that my overt naivete and, dayum, you've got a stew going... a stew that no one in their right mind would ever partake of. But, to be otherwise, just seems so foreign at the moment...
Unfortunate, as always...
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