late night rambling.

I really want to talk to someone right now. I want to write and write and write to them, word for word, everything that is buzzing around my head right now. I want to close my eyes and be an egg that you catch. Gently tucked away and rocked by the wind. Although I feel so stupid all the time. So I want to close my eyes and wish it all away. My head is a traffic jam, and bicyclist flying down the high streets of San Francisco, becoming one big blur of colors and a lack of words. I am the person behind your eyes, the one who takes in all you see. I am the burden to your mind, care to listen to me? I close my eyes a lot when I write to try and block these thoughts from entering my own head. There's an enter at your own risk sign hanging out front, but I can't help my curiousity. I keep squinting my eyes, hoping to blur the bicyclist into you, but my head is beginning to hurt. My arms are no longer attached to my body. A frame within a frame within a frame. Everything is a copy of a copy. And my experiences are none the less. These things always happen to me and I should have learned better by now but I'm a copy of a copy of a copy's copy. I am the girl you see or saw or thought you saw and my lips are peeling from all the attention.I keep biting them but there is no real result. I am still a wanderer, a prisoner of this labyrinth, the tall walls and twisting corners. With every step I find myself deeper and deeper. Will I ever make it out? What's the point of being in this labyrinth if it's just one big journey? What is the point of life if there's no finish line?