I think half-thoughts

slow

to

adjust

I’m losing touch

With everything.

Everyone is someone new for me to run away with mentally or physically.
All of my suitcases
Filled with baggage
I try to forget to bring them
Yet my hands always ache from gripping the handles.
There are maps and magazines
I wish I could jump into
I'm chained to poor mental health
Poor decision making
And a desire for the room to stop spinning
Long enough for my thoughts to take shape clearly.
Casual *** and let-downs strengthen my mental block.
No one can reach me.

You hang out in art galleries.
I try to balance my anxiety
Too many things to worry about...
I'll write you off one by one
Till you are no longer on my mind
Too bad I can't ******* write!
My hands hold negative energy
I try to hide them, cover them up
None of it correlates.

I am going crazy
I am going crazy
Sands slip through my brain and scrape
I tense and twist
The feeling still lingers
Pushing me
I'm run over by a speeding city bus
The stench of sadness
Collects on my clothes
Weakness holds me down and back
There's a subtle aching tone
A call to end it all
Getting even louder

pretending to have something to complain about.

what a sad existence.

words spilling over

like something beautiful.

poets who use periods a lot.


not distract him from his thoughts meandering

happens and happenings

misguided spins to music

calm yourself and breathe living air

tell me what it took

for a while, that was exactly what you wanted

a wrong description of the past

Start
Theorizing
My life,
Is lost out beyond space.
Start
Perfering
Thicker
Guidelines upon my thoughts
To develop myself
You
Are
A sexist/classist
Waste of space
(I want you to go away forever)