Stain
This just seems right to post.
I feel like this Nirvana song, like a stain.
The song goes…
Well, he never bleeds, and he never fucks, and he never leaves ’cause he’s got bad luck.
Well, he never reads, and he never draws, and he never sleeps ’cause he’s got bad luck, yeah…
I’m a stain…
I’m in that sort of rut, but I don’t blame luck, I just blame myself. The really fucked up part is that I can’t write about any of it, which goes against my entire philosophy of transparency. I can’t even write it as thinly veiled fiction, as I do so often. I have these things going on that I absolutely cannot put to words, but since they’re all that’s in my head, I can’t seem to write anything else. I’m frustrated, and exhausted, and I just want to feel something good again. I don’t want to feel like I’m a stain…
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