migrating birds... its the time of the year, the seasonal changes, map of the heart... and i find myself missing home.

it feels like im coming back full circle again... somewhat lost, somwhat caught in the past. been thinking of my ex again though i try to tell myself to let it go. maybe its the drugs, maybe i really am over it. maybe this is the midweek blues; afterall i had a pretty large weekend. thinking and talking in circles... the more i write, the deeper the spiral. maybe it would be better if i never wrote anything down and let myself realise/caught in my thoughts.

i thought i knew what i wanted to do... which i do, in a way, but its becoming to feel too much like a dream. afterall, how concrete is anything; what is my dream gonna do for me for a future, when it comes to the base needs of survival in this pathetic capitalist world. i used to wish i was born in a different century when the world wasnt so... material. now i wonder, how much of it was youthful idealism, and how much of it is my procastination and inability to deal with the "real" world that i live in.

am i depressed? what is depression anymore... the lines are blurred between me and the drugs, where do they end and begin? a vicious cycle. who am i?

we are what we eat.