We Don't Have Much Room to Live.

i think i sleep when i'm sad. i don't sleep well or dream of some "better" place, i just sleep. it's like a stupor of exhaustion that i can't escape. it doesn't matter for how long or how often, i just keep wanting that place. my mind has mostly blocked the pain out. the loneliness. the grieving. i don't feel any of it anymore. but with it goes the passion. and the sociability. and all the happy moments.
the one thing that doesn't suffer is my art. it's true what they say you know, that artists draw from their strongest emotions. mine tend to stem from somewhere in the darkness. a relatively unbelieved place for me to exist.
but i go there.

oh yes, i have a long upstanding residency in the dark.