Master of Masks

I’m stuck and I’m running out of ideas, let alone money…

Will you love me when the money runs out?

Who will care for me when the money runs out?

In moments such as these friends do matter.

In moments such as these food does matter.

 

In moments such as these it doesn’t matter how clever you are, it’s your stupidity that counts.

It doesn’t matter how well prepared you were, it’s all going up in smoke.

You’re a fraud and your masks are frauds.

 

I definitely know that in five years time I will not write stupid letters to myself.

I don’t know how to live but I don’t wanna die.

I wish I slept for the next five years to wake up in a decade I hope to make mine.

 

I don’t wanna relieve myself,

I don’t wanna stuff myself.

I’m too worried about meself and life itself.

I have a wonderful congested nose, so no flights for me.

(Be careful what you wish for.)

 

What will this volcano hold in store for me?

How will it change my life?

I’ve had enough sun to last a lifetime today.

I will not be conquered.

I will not stand still.

 

I’m worried about the money I’m worried about the way,

 

I’m worried about the cornerstones, I’m worried about myself,

 

I’m worried how and why and if determinism works.

Am I affected?

Am I defeated?

Is this a sign to show how big a person I really am, or just coincidenza?

 

Everybody else is doing it, why can’t we?

Why can’t I?

I’m really really confused as to what to do

But as usual, I will find a way.

Usually I do!

 

No flights until further notice.

 

My mum slagged me off for not being reasonable

 

my ex-teacher offends me by suggesting that everyone should travel by train,

 

but I myself am in that situation, they are not. I am not.

 

 

If the volcano didn’t happen, I’d be home by now. No need to slag me off.

If the volcano didn’t happen my studies wouldn’t continue. No need to slag me off.

Cut me some slag.

I’d go home sit at home and watch at home.

My life would pass me even if I was at home.

I feel sombre. I feel beaten.

I feel like I don’t own this life.

I feel like determinism.

I feel like everyone’s a critique, while I am my most severe.