the gap in the curtains makes me feel like running away

Mind vomit. Because for some reason, i sometimes think in poetic meter

Let the boys play their games of politics and sex
While the girls get told that 'father knows best'
The old ways must die before we'll be let in
To their smoke-rooms, cigars and sleaze-filled grins

I should sleep, but I don't dream here.

I've been thinking a lot of things lately.

Mostly that I don't know how to say them anymore.