Because laughter isn't only the best medicine, it is also the best disguise
I put away the guitar for awhile, although my fingers constantly wish for them. I start having freak-outs again, and I have to count inside my head for a while or hum something soft just to let it pass. I have refrained myself from writing, too, because writing makes me think, and I do not want to think, though my mind just wouldn't work that way. It will be okay, I promise. And I repeat the stupid words to let it sink. Gotta figure out what to do.
"There was a little girl, with a bookcase for a heart. Whose dusty, lonely shelves, longed for swan songs to impart. And came a dawn hued book, with pages stained which dwell, in worlds of wondering whimsy, which reality could not quell. With lashes softly crotched, around lyric violet eyes, the little girl looked up, to tug boats clearing skies. A night where stars would fly, instead of tarnished fall. And where a bookcase for a heart, was not a bad thing after all." - Kim (Frankie Magazine)