i have come a far way from the basement on the circle. though 88 miles is not as accurate of a measurement. i keep staring down at the gray though, its the quiet screams of growing that pang deep inside when i am trying to stay light. i still dont smile much these days, not like i used to, its just so people think everything is ok, so i can finally convince myself it is. i am a painter who has been given palm full of clay. you feel like you belong somewhere in empty space between the bars you make it your own. opportunities come, and what you once wanted seems so much less appealing then it initially was. then desire is predicated by being a different kind of child. not like i am now. its when you want for the potential of things. there was a time when i didnt talk to anyone for months, at least it seemed that way. i better stop holding my cure close and listening to the notes before i start crying. i have forgotten why something and nothing are the same. thats when i know i am too far ok to ever be the same. its easy to go there, i know i am trying to stay clean but ill run away like i always do. i always said ill get through becoming you. i dont know who to choose.