Slip Slide

I find myself surrounded by negativity. Or huge voids of thought. Smashing repeating laughing. Crying sleeping vomiting. All I want is happy people. Happy people happy to be here. Because I'm not and its a lot harder to act that way when no one else is. But here I am, alone in my room, writing, because I can't handle either world right now and I have no other choices. I've closed myself into a box where I have to act and the act is getting to difficult to maintain. The act is requiring more props. Props that are destroying the act, holding it up unsteadily and dangerously, holding in on these pillars of sand. It looks stable. It looks like something to be desire but underneath its all drinks and drugs and cigarettes. It's a constant fucked up moment. It's red bull and aristocrap and american spirits. It isn't happiness. Hollow smiles and hollow laughs. I don't think I'm alone.