My Muck

Dull days file down to dust and life seems to slip out right from underneath you. You don't see the point in getting out of bed if you're just going to suffer through another day. Another day of facing people that have no importance in your life... another day of wallowing down and wasting away in a vat of nothingness. Some people have no idea what makes them upset, and they don't need to. I sit here typing and content, not sure what's got me so down, but at the same time I'm aware of a lot of things that could be better. I feel stuck in a mud I have created, and my life seems to be slathered with it. Right now writing is the only thing I find myself content with. I've been pulling away from reality and escaping into my own world. But it's ok because they know me there.