Single room with coffee

This is becoming confusing for me now, one minute I’m told to pack all my belongings and exit the door, the next I’m begged to lend a helping hand. Got my hands tide on luggage, carrying both my belongings and the anxiety, dark dreams got me cutting people off without showing remorse, I’ve fallen in love with the sound of my own voice echo instead of hearing artificial individuals show love. Dancing to no music I feel as if I’m losing my mind, not knowing what kind of dark force I’m about to bury next.

This is merely a vent and nothing special; I honestly do not know what I’d be without that poster at the back of my head where there’s real happiness instead of this mess in my room. There’s a cure, there’s a melody I hear whenever I write this philosophical happiness, there’s true artificial happiness when these keys actually listen to my heart.

I hate the fact that my painted happiness only consists of an empty room, coffee and some good music, it shouldn’t be like that. I believe there should be more people all smiles at my success at the end of the road, believe you me, that one room with coffee would just be fine...