I’m annoyed.
With all the things. All the stuffs.
The noise. The lights. The constant hum of too much everything.
It’s all too loud, and yet,
I’m aching to be held.
Craving a hug, a touch, something soft to ground me.
I know.
It makes no sense.
I make no sense.
But since when have I ever been easy to explain or made much sense?
Make it make sense.
The noise. The lights. The constant hum of too much everything.
It’s all too loud, and yet,
I’m aching to be held.
Craving a hug, a touch, something soft to ground me.
I know.
It makes no sense.
I make no sense.
But since when have I ever been easy to explain or made much sense?
Make it make sense.
