My least favorite part about the human obsession with education is probably the pretentiousness that follows it at its heel.
For example, I could spend years of my life learning to understand what makes music work;
Music theory.

I could spend hours, days, months, years, or decades studying. I could listen to everything from ancient arts like throats singing like in Mongolia or
Something newer like E.D.M.

Only to have my thoughts. My genuine love of music and the art behind it completely undermined by a classical music elitist with a degree.

How can education be important when you can't educate yourself to be a decent human being? What does bein thousands of dollars in debt and a peice of paper give you that I don't have?

Nothing.
Nothing at all.

There's only one place I can think of that I've ever really felt at peace.
Maybe because I was so ******* young.
Before my own corruption
before my ego
became the demon perched
on my shoulder
fingers digging deep into me.
Maybe it's why I find it hard
to fall asleep on my right side.
I'm learning to smile more,
worry less.
It's hard.
Very hard.
I have a great job
where I work my hardest
to make my customers happy
because
no one should eat in a sour mood.
No one ever said that to me
but I think I'll tell it to my kids.
What a scary thought.
My heads all over the place.
It's been months
Months since I last attempted
to allow my thoughts to shift
from the ever approaching future
to
To
To the bitter and cold spectrum
of human emotion I leave in my wake. Much like the edges of our vast
and ever expanding universe.
I feel I can only move forward
but
I keep finding myself peering to my left shoulder
in hopes that the space where the angel is supposed to guide me from
will no longer be vacant.
My life isn't bad.
My life isn't a waste.
So why,
why do I find myself wishing
Wishing I was dead.
Where do I go from here?
Where do I direct this anger?
Why am I angry?
Why am I so ******* empty?
What could I be missing?

I'm missing something.
I'm missing a lot of things.
I'm missing the point
I'm missing my high school years
I'm missing the light
I'm missing the spring

What's wrong with my head?
What's wrong?

I'm doing something
Something I never thought I would be.
I'm laying in bed  
my first love with me once more

we're mostly quiet
We're listening to the music
The music we used to aleviate the pain
Of our break up

It's odd.
Very odd.
However, I don't mind

It's entirely, too, quiet.

Tonight, for the first time in a long while, I am angry.
This, of course, is to be reread in a very matter of factly and sing-song voice.
I'm not sure where it's coming from;
Perhaps, I am simply exhausted
Perhaps, I am simply exhausted.
This is what I tell myself.
I sit locked away in the bathroom listening to the leaking bathtub faucet.
Honestly, it's rather annoying.
Wasteful.
I'm moody.
Maybe because
I've been smoking so much ***
Or
Maybe I need a stiff,
No very stiff,
Drink.


Drink

Drink
Drink.
I don't know what could be wrong.
I highlight,
in my head of course,
All my flaws
Nothing there
seems to be causing this Anger

Maybe it's all the political turmoil

Though that probably isn't it.

I think

I think

I think I'll shower and have some tea.
Drink some ***
And smoke a bit
Cuddle the beautiful woman
I snapped at
After a very necessary apology
A kiss and some rest.

I'm tired.

So I'm not angry

I'm grumpy.

I'm sorry.

hands bestowing love
loves bidding
poets fingers on the pulse