Short Stories

Tired

Here we go again.
Tripping over falling over skipping over.
What's it over?
When's it over?
Honey sweet honey. Bees are dying. They may sting... but have you ever walked through a patch of raspberries to realize they only sting when you sting?
Don't mind me. I sit in a corner.
Don't mind me. I don't speak much.
Don't mind me. I say... things.
Understand me.
Or don't understand me.
Take it I'm simple.
Take it I'm complex.
It's late
It's early
I'm always tired.
Swept away by a current I can't see.
Drowned in my own pool of thoughts.
Can I see?
Or can I not?
Can't even?
White bitches please. Starbucks can give you caffeine. But it's not a damn life source.
Caffeine is the "harmless" drug.

Not a doctor.
Just full of opinions.
I'm not a hater.
Yet I'm stereotypical.

To be or not to be.
I'm not fucking Shakespeare. Say this to me and I could give you hundreds of different sights.
Not really.
Not with a tired mind no.

I'm rambling.
Brain thoughts.
Keep me up keep me down sleep tight wake up.
There's no story here.
No story anywhere....

That's a lie. In a way.
I'm tired.
I should sleep.
To wake up another day.
And to fall asleep asking the same questions but in different ways.
Thinking of the world.
Thinking of things.
To here is my brain.
Simple yet complex.
No complete sentences.
No correct grammar.
Just.
Thoughts.
Ideas.
I trip, I fall, I get up.
I'm awake I'm asleep.
I'm tired...