So I'm bloated off beer.
And I'm not playing Harrison well.
I'm slipping on these chords.
And my voice doesn't have the normal control it does.
Because she's filming me.
I've got quite the million things in my mind.
And you know what, I would like to ignore all of them.
All of them.
And you know what I do.
I smoke spliffs.
And bloat off these beers.
I can feel this little anxiety in me.
I am wondering if I'll start having panic attacks again.
I don't think they'll be like before.
Nothing like that, right?
I remember my anxiety attacks back when I was addicted to coke.
I didn't understand them.
I didn't know what they were.
So as I had the panic attack, I searched my mind for the reason.
And I would think about all the things I could that may be the reason I feel so.
But remembering things is no good. Myths only negativity I must focus on is my only and past relationship.
I may start to, though.
Every day is causing for one.
Every day is a bigger mess.
I'm trying to surround myself with the positive.
I'm doing well with that.
I need to make my art.
Go on adventures.
I need friends who adventure.
There are a few who may.
I'm also gaining anxiety due to my problem.
I feel like I'm trying so hard for control.
But my body is getting used to it.
And I'll have to die to get what I want, it seems.
Well, I have awesome shoes coming in the mail.
And I can work out again.
And I can have my control.
I freestyled the other day.
And I flowed and flowed
I told stories.
And it felt good.
And I've been jamming.
Almost got the Gold Lion cover down.
I've got to remember myself.
Remember that I love what I know.
And all humans beings are just that.
Big ol' bawlz of alcohol like I am.
A stoned blob that can't speak like I am.
I'm a fool like the guy right next to me.
So I can't weigh myself on the babble that the woman runs through my brain.
Why is my problem incomplete.
Why am I not visually satisfying with myself.
Can't this shit skin, minimal muscles, and melting piles of fet listen.