But the music is too loud and my thought process is blurry.
Blurry all but Jesus and horses.
That's what stands at the end of my tunnel vision.
The sides are littered with handsome smiles and cowboys and ropes, you and the books I read last month.
They just fade in and out of perspective;
one minute in a state of perfection, the next a repetition of last night's terrors.
It's agonizing, the way it all whirls around like the hurricane that it is.
At the same instance, it has a sense of allure and charm, kind of like you.
The curtain falls each night like the end of a scene when the actors drop their masks and their faces beheld.
Acting starts in strife for perfection and ends in habit.
You become your mind's best self meanwhile destroying the originality and loveliness of who you genuinely are.
Truth be known, I've been acting for a while and I'm trying to learn how to act like me again.
Stop acting, I beg you.
Your dreams that lie each night on the dark side of your eyelids, listen to them. They are the prettiest things.
Now do you see?
It's obvious that if I knew how I felt, I'd tell you, I really would, but I can't even keep my nightmares and fairytales straight.
photo cred: google