Its like every once in a while you begin to wonder who you really are.
I wouldn’t call it a mid-life crisis because I haven’t personally hit a quarter century yet but I guess it’s the “next best thing” (inserts sarcastic laugh).
Sometimes the memories start to feel better than the present. I guess cause the numbness eventually takes over. Then you begin to clutch onto the ideals that you had before you were tainted by the world.
Damaged goods, good and damaged.
Ain’t that some shit, but really. It’s more about what fuels you. That’s where you have to be careful. At the age of 16 I got my first tattoo on Simpson Road In Atlanta, in the kitchen of my pops current fling. Terrible decision, I touched it up later though (reinserts sarcastic laugh). Continuing on, the tattoo said, “Save Me From Myself.” The tattoo buddy looked at me and said, “you must be going through some shit.” I barely responded. I gave him that, “yeah, obviously look.”
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I was fueled by so much emotion that it got out of control. Not portrayed by the tattoo within itself, but It was sign-a reminder even, that I was my own worse enemy, but at the same time all I needed was that enemy.
Fueled by emotions until I couldn’t feel-anymore. Fueled by pain, but what happens when it doesn’t hurt anymore?
You begin to wonder who you really are.
Then you come across those who attempt to understand you, love you even. But you’re damaged goods, good and damaged.
However, you do have story worth telling.
As long as someone is patient enough to listen.