Feel sick, that nervous snake of doubt twisting from stomach to throat.
Who to trust?
What is truth? Do I really want to know??
I don't think I ever will - all I get is silence or hazy platitudes.
Longing for my muse to make a return and lead me to create something - anything - to turn my frustrations into something worthwhile.
Wasted time. Longing. horrid thoughts.
Too much time in my own head.
Maybe I'm just lonely.
