Tired of me. Tired of being broken and lonesome. Tired of being in need of a friend. Tired of falling for anyone who can make me smile. Tired of my sentiments and even more tired of the things that make me who I am. Tired of my own writing.
Tired of you. Tired of your devilish smile because you're hiding what's behind it. Tired of your attempt at intrigue. Tired of you wanting to be so complicated. Tired of looking for you and at you. Tired of you only being about on weekends.
Tired of the world. Tired of a man who jumps out a seventh story hotel room with the son of the woman he just hit as a cushion for the fall. Tired of a woman who kills her children and says that God told her to do it. Tired of people beheading each other over politics, tired of protests and even more tired of the things we have to protest over. Tired of the world losing focus.
Tired of trying to cover up how I feel.
This is where the feelings go, this is where the feelings are supposed to stop.
This is where the feelings go, this is the place where the feelings start.
