mess

something is seriously unright
maybe its my head
acting like its an over-enthusiastic puppy waiting to be unleashed
and my soul straining to hold on
to some weathered leather belt

its when the hangover never leaves
that you start searching often too frantically
for the drink
that takes you back
way back
to a place named reality.

in 24 hrs
i told her
" we're getting on ok"
" i dont think i like him anymore"
"god this is a mess"
" why"
"i dont think it matters anymore even if we never talk again"
"why isnt he talking to me?"


if i'm one messed up girl
its just a silhouette of some even messier mind.