forest for the trees

I'm at a loss, because it feels like I'm talking to myself (and God knows I do enough of that in my free time). And even after little to zero creative output of any kind from yours truly for the past several weeks, I'm still at a lost. The human brain is an interesting thing; too bad it's not made use of most of the time.

My fortunate escape from the prison they call Hell's Kitchen yields nothing except a desire to watch more documentaries on TV and a propensity to smoke until my throat is parched. Behind bars, I alternate between hibernating and watching Anthony Bourdain. And taking smoke breaks, of course. Nothing doing here.

My only opiate left -- cigarettes. There I go again, lighting another cigarette. No love. No life. Anti-social tendencies begin to accumulate. I can no longer sleep with someone else in the same room. I try to limit conversations with others to a bare minimum. I'm starting to dislike everyone I meet. I have nothing much to say to anyone, and even if I do, I don't feel the need to start a conversation. I decline offers to meet new people. I'm not even trying to find something to look forward to. I sometimes forget that eating is a required daily activity.

There I go again, lighting another cigarette. I feel like a child again, sans innocence, energy, and a sense of wonder. We live in a beautiful world, but I can't see past whatever mess I've made of everything. I know I'm going to hell; I just wish they'd make the processing faster. Can someone please take me away?

Or at least do something. Make it all a vanishing act, or a stage. Make me remember things I've never experienced. There I go again, lighting another cigarette. Make it interesting, because life is boring me to death. Or I'm boring myself to death. But then I can't escape myself, can I? I'm really losing it, and at this point I don't really care. Let you entertain me for a change.

Okay, maybe I just need more sleep.