Desperation is no longer quiet

I have to find a place to live. A school to go to. A career to choose. A job to sustain myself. And yet all I want to do smoke some weed on my bed and listen to sad songs on repeat. Fuck I wish God had given me talent. Then these responsibilities and mundane "supposed to do" things that everyone has to do, I would say fuck off to. I'd let my music, my passion, my undeniable talent take me across the world.

 But maybe to test me, maybe to punish me the universe gave me a brain. Not a smart one either. Or at least not where it counts. I can memorize more bullshit than the offspring of a calculator and encylcopedia fuck. I can tell you George Washington's birthday, and the process of photosynthesis, and the rulers of the Supreme Court and other "enlightening" facts that high school shoved in my brain. But if you asked me how to fix a broken wire, or cook a meal, or find a address, I'm bloody clueless. I didn't  learn any life skills from school, or from my family, or just naturally on my own. So now I a perfect hybrid of this twisted society. A brain full of facts, but none of them include survival knowledge. Thousands of options open, yet I have no clue or direction to follow one. Most of the time I just think I should end my life. That why I wouldn't have to see how much I wish I could have, wish I could be.

Henry David Thoreau said most men live lives of "quiet desperation." Only my desperation is no longer quiet. It screams.