Piss On Concrete

I've been thrown the fuck off. I am feeling formulaic, creatively destitute. No matter; these things are part of it all, and in my mind's eye—a small glimmer of light will shine and show me the way. Do you ever feel like when things are going right, there's a part of yourself that feels like you don't deserve it? I don't know, being grateful is a tough thing. Why am I so fortunate? Am I even fortunate at all? It's so strange to me, wondering how there's always gas in the tank. Stopping to refuel—that's been a weird thing I've had to learn. You know, I just need time to let loose. There's a strange little thing in me that's got to release the pressure, otherwise I'm toast. It's odd, figuring out coping mechanisms. I feel like there's still so much I'm hiding, and it makes me wonder about my own supposed beliefs in action. Privacy and transparency aren't these diametrically opposed things, and there's a sort of pluralism there most people can't really put their finger on. I used to…