It’s always been proven that writing allows me to escape from any instances of anxiety that I face. Writing has always been the cure. Speaking about my issues to friends has never been my strong suit. It’s time I embrace these fears. When I was in Israel for birthright, I planned to eventually write a song entitled “Hungover in Jerusalem.” Today I met up with my bestfriend who moved to Israel four years ago. He joined the army there. Our conversation was enlightening and comforting. I realized, through his insight, that sometimes it’s best not to worry about an overall plan. Sometimes it’s best to let things play out. Here goes nothing:

“Hungover in Jerusalem”

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I’m having trouble writing — that’s the problem lol. 

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Let’s just write. A girl once told me I focused too much on titles. Although the subject of that conversation completely differs with the concept I’m discussing now, titles, nonetheless, are as irrelevant to the story as the relevancy it implies. 

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I’ve always been a writer, words cure my insecurities.

The world’s currently blurred by my inert immaturity.

Now if you misinterpret its purpose, the surface bleeds.

An anxious adolescent burning worthless weed nervously, 

Mixing resolutions with restitution, 

Such a helpless student, meshing additions with meth in music.

You’re selfish, restless with your in depth improvements.

Resting in reckless rooms with, weaponless movements.

Involving pseudo intellectuals with pretentious prudence.

Question, is your conscientious conscience conclusive?

Or is your language so imperative the emirates were subject to flew in?

I mean fly in, or flowing … flow is what I am in fluent in.

I was so indifferent about being different that the difference is I ruined it.

Explain to me the procedure to gather thoughts.

Around the same time eminem was being introduced to rappers sounding like asher roth.

Exponents, parenthesis,

You’re a child, of course, but act as if all your actions are passing in leaves from your family tree.

I think my ancestors branches are the only attachments carrying me.

I think you only realize there’s a chance that I left only after I actually leave.

I think my veins stick out of their cylinders. 

I wanted to multiply but first had to pay attention to the integers.

Cause what’s an artist if he or she doesn’t pay attention to the listeners

Commitment put me in a predicament too sinister.

Too committed to witnessing my pigments hurt,

Too cemented by friendships cringing first,

I went from hiding my body to sighing from her I.Q stylishly dropping from my lifted shirt.

I’m a dubstepper, blunt shredder, camel crush presser, 

I fuck better, when I’m preoccupied jotting lines in your love letters.

I’m scared of the future disagreeing with my ideals.

I’m too paralyzed from your synopsis to try and feel,

Numb from the pride and deals,

You’ve tried to reel, 

I’m sick of letting blind drivers lead me into pines and steel,

I think it’s time I try the wheel.