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I sound vague.
I feel vague. And the thoughts I have bottled up are still just thoughts yet to make sense; my mornings don’t feel like a ritual anymore rather than a torture session; staying up late happens when I fear the black figure that waits under my bedstep; the alcohol; my roommate.
The English language sounds vague; feels vague.

Sudden words happen-not to pop up when I’m trying not to sound anything at all. Not even vague. That is when something else happens; otherwise. It is always happening to me.
sOmething else.

I am tired of vacuity. I in fact am a lot of things, most of them (too) else.

Unbehalf. ⠀

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I dreamt about a Dalmatian. ⠀⠀⠀⠀

How can life be so black and white?

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