I can't shake the sad off

I can't shake the self-pity off

I can't shake the sad off

I was going through old journal entries last night

I wanted it all and I had it all planned out - my life would be composed of nakedness and roadtrips,
of complicit friendships and trust, of wild true love and of accomplishments

I made lists and digital scrap-books of what I needed to remember to do
Of what I couldn't forget

I store them all away though, the moment it all started

I don't quite understand my reasoning for it but I think, I think it went something like this : "Get settled first, you should take the serious things seriously and leave the playthings for when you have free time". If only someone would've told me never to abandon the playthings because the playthings are the only thing that is important and the only thing that could keep you sane and growing and boasting.

I don't know how to get back to them now, see I'm trying I'm writing in this journal again but I have a hundred others that I can't get back to now and what's happened to my writing is this any good the way it is? Should I not be able to draw by now? Where did you go to, singing voice? I also bought a guitar in an attempt to bring back my callous fingers and I'm wearing a ring on my left index finger that is too big and slips off and I'm telling myself it's okay because you just need to keep trying but I look in the mirror and I can't shake the sad off. My reflection moves in slow motion and it's screaming at me to DO something, d o anything, it's easy and you're a coward if you keep letting your life run in slow-motion but then why didn't you start earlier? Shouldn't you be able to draw, dance, recite, knit, write?

What have you been doing all these years?
Where did you put your head in?

Well I'm afraid that the hole is closing in and it won't let your head through it no more
It'll stay in savoury blackness and it's insides will drip out of it and it'll be dripped dry