2003-03-28 - 3:24 a.m.

'so much for slamming your head to happiness'

It's past three in the morning. And I haven't a hint of that strange tiredness behind the eyes. The one that whispers, 'sleep, baby, sleep,' like some lulling voice hidden deep within the folds of the mass behind said eyes. Sad eyes. These eyes.

I need to get out of my head.

And once I bust free I'll run. Run so fast and so hard that no one will ever think to push me back inside. Because even if they wanted to, they couldn't if they tried. By then I'll be too misshapen. Too big. Too good for the dark world barely surviving in my skull.

Sometimes I get the urge to shake it wildly. Stir it up. Send all the cabinet doors swinging open, and maybe hear the plates in my head shatter. Like when I was young and thought I could head-bang my way to some sort of happiness. The sad thing is that more often than not - I could. Now it just gives me a dull throb and an ache in my neck. So much for slamming your head to happiness. So much for being young.

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