Even.

I sit on the the busy street of broadway in long beach. I contemplate what I am doing? What am I really doing here? I've grown bored of all the surroundings and I only halfheatedly  commit to anything. This now allows too much time to sleep and think about what I "could" be doing. I haven't written in a week... It's not that I don't have good intentions of continuing this .. project, it's just I've lost interest. I need a force of inspiration, a change that doesn't involve me moving. I just want to do something that amounts to anything. I childishly  sang that I could indeed do better than him... But I know deep down I can not. I absolutely can not do better... The insult is rewarding, keeps me begging and pushing for more.