Nobody belongs to me
You don't belong to me
I wish you did, I wish this was permanent but love is temporary like life itself
It's conditional
I get sick and withdraw as a result and I feel you pull back
I see your performative displays, pictures for everyone but me
Attention elsewhere the second I don't supply it
And I'm content;
I already knew this, but it still hurts.
It hurts knowing that all we built were words
You'll never be mine,
It was just my turn

Your smile was brilliant
like a snow dust portrait in the fall

I could see you then, alive, full of something.
Life hadn't beaten you down yet..
Your smile, still vibrant,
and the pain merely implied.
You had so much more to do; I'm sorry you didn't get to see it.
But I'll take this burden from you. & you
can live with the angels

I'm living in a sort of dissociated daze
I don't feel real. I don't feel the warmth or love or intimate affection that I used to amongst supposed romantic partners. I feel detached and dizzy, ill.
I've gone through this before however, countless times. Numerous personality changes. I was different a month ago, more assured, more positive and in a spiritual frame of mine. Now I'm slightly nihilistic with a lingering fantasy for homicide; I wonder how it'd feel stabbing and gutting someone because I know it'd be like stabbing myself; we're all manifestations of the same spirit (energy). You're me, and I'm you. When you take a **** in the morning , I feel you expending that waste.

But this is rambling. I guess the point is im here and I'm getting tired with these life circumstances. I am merely existing;, and the remedy is to live spontaneously. I don't want to die with regrets. I made it to 30 (almost). Time to see if it was all worth it. But really it's nothing too serious. It's a joke really; give up, and find freedom. Let it all go, let all the prejudice die. Youre not what society or your parents expect from you; you are a being of free agency, alive and in the present, beautiful, fearless, unmolested, still born

I am a nothing man,
I sore amongst the eagles. I play with the itinerate dish wash band, I plant my seeds in the field of excess.
I watch your governments crumble and your
women ***** themselves for pocket change;
I see the rolling hills and the divide and cascade and assorted minutia.
I may not have much but I have time, and time only exists in the mind. So why cry

God is here
He's got a big face
There's children in the garage
This is wasting ink
Writing for a son
Nowhere to be found

Put a fist up my head
Saw 3 truths
1 about blowing smoke
2 about talking to strangers

Hopefully I can find the meaning down the road
I'm a little sick
And it's whatever
This time it's now

Awake with pain in this place
Couldn't dream was crying in a disaster place
Reluctant to shed light when wounded
I **** your god with a knife & your daughter
with a smile
Be conscious

I have very low self esteem
This is very apparent

feel



Sitting on a porch
Grossed out by the black and unwillingness to try
Ive been defeated
So sad the battle is




I'm sorry to my love
I'm a coward
Because I don't even have the ***** to say it
It's sad


Gonna publish this
So painfully self aware
So uptight
**** rententive
The abuse is evident
Let go
Little boy
It's okay
It's all okay
I love you
Be strong
Existence is something