Good houses

It seems that whenever i need consolation i always resort to writing on here. Which is pretty hypocritical of me. Like if there isn't enough of that in the world as it is. My throat is choked, I need to cry. I think its that phase again. The phase where I think im loosing my mind. The only relief i can find is in myself, my thoughts my music my writing is my medication. This always happens to me, I always end up with the short end of the stick. I try try try to defeat the cycle, but its become a religion to me. I'm tired of feeling sorry for myself. I'm done with digging 6 feet for myself to lie in. Why cant i stay happy? Just when i think i have it all, my fucking mind starts to over analyze and wander hoping for a greener grass. I'm sorry but I've looked around my grass isn't even grass, its a garden. I don't know why I insist on looking onto someone's yard. Sing me something sweet moon, i need to lay head on something softer tonight. Hopefully tomorrow i don't break down like today.

are we on the same page?