I stay up too late. I ramble.

There's things that matter
and there's things that should matter.
And the difference between the two,
well,
that's my problem,
that there is a difference at all.

The gap between the two,
I think,
is the result of my shitty disfuctional mind.
Selfishness and delusion, maybe a little
hope mixed with depression,
and just a smidgen of insecurity.

I'm keeping myself awake with this shit.

Over-analyzing imaginary situations
and some such,
this can't be healthy.

My brain is a hoarder.
It holds on to Fucking. Everything.
Okay, maybe not everything,
but the useless bits,
the dead cats and turned yogurt of thought.
It collects rusty nails.

Dangerous scrap thoughts.

But what the fuck would be the equivalent
of cleaning the house?
A lobotomy?
No, what I think I've done here
is go too far with a stupid metaphor.