Blank Slates and Bloody Lips

I stare into the mirror for at least an hour, almost as if expecting my reflection to speak to me or something. My eyes slide in and out of focus, registering small, unimportant things that normally wouldn't stand out, like the fact that my eyes seem lighter than usual. I draw the curtains back and gaze outside, and the people and their cars are staring up at me, as well as the pigeons and trees. Someone, jumpstart my brain. Seems like it's just stagnating, this mass of thoughts and feelings that are going nowhere. Like trying to pour cement through a funnel, I can't get the words out. Indolence and lethargy are the enemies, brought on by the cold chill as well as my own mental gridlock. I need to arm myself against them, be it with the warmth of the coming seasons, or with exciting people who spark the soul. Maybe even both. This gray cityscape will always be my home, but as of late it feels like I'm a visitor who's seen it all. I need a change of scenery. Something to get rid of the undying fuzz and static that permeates me. I need the confusion to end. I need the freshness and inspiration as my constant companions once again. I keep saying that these are the things that I need, but really they're all just wants. My needs are far fewer, and much harder to attain.