These times when you can't finish anything you write are the worst. Like water that can't think of a reason to flow you stop mid-sentence and dismiss the whole thing as pointless.

And those days when your mouth connects to empty confused parts of your brain suck too. You try and talk but all you get is monotone drained of feeling. People look at you like your broken and alien. Why'd you even leave the house? You could be cocooned in blanklets up to your eyes in sweet, numbing, smoke listening to Tom Waits and mourning your existence instead of being naked on the streets looking for that moment in which you can break down with the least amount of embarassment.