This sickness called hope is too much to bear, the load is weightless yet overbearing, I'm crumbling like old forgotten buildings, crashing down on the inside. A hollow shell, a cracked facade of a once magnificent home. Age is taking its toll, hairline fractures are appearing + destroying the surface. This sickness called hope is too much to bear, the buildings crumblings with the barest of whisper.

Sometimes, searching for the good can take so much time. Searching for how I've won [because, no matter what happens, I always win] can be tiresome + draining. + sometimes, I don't feel like I've won. Sometimes, I feel like I've lost. But eventually I get it all back together, I gather everything around me, safe in the night like a security blanket. The music washes over me + washes away the fears + the tears, + I'm as good as new.

Sometimes, just when you think it's all over, it restarts. This dirty sickness called hope is too much to bear.

I have to drive to Birmingham in about half an hour, + my wrist hurts for no apparent reason.
Come over for hugs + be my driving companion. We'll overheat together, take tips from my car, a lesson in getting too hot.

Robot Love