Sometimes I’m not sure whether the past was even that great
I look upon it with such longing for those better days

I am the unreliable narrator in my own life
And I am ungrateful for the present too

Why has nostalgia got such a chokehold on me?????

One day I woke up and I was afraid to live

Staying up late to write about my emotions is never a good idea

I gain nothing and just get tired
but it’s an addiction I guess, maybe
It’s the act of writing that keeps me coming
Pouring myself into the letters of the alphabet
Even if it means a couple of drops spill

is it so wrong for me to want something good and pure?

All my life I’ve been entangled in destruction
Seeking it, causing it, craving it, deserving it
The list could go on forever

But is it so wrong to want something good?
To want something intimate and whole?
To want trust

sometimes it feels like I’m asking for too much
But what I want has to be out there somewhere
I’m not insane
This is far from irrational right?
I am deserving right?

Or can a wretched creature like me be trusted with something pure and good? Am I too tainted for what I want?

I feel tainted
I feel destined for destruction
But a part of me still hopes I can be saved

It doesn’t even hurt to break now
I’ve lost all feeling in the places where I’ve shattered and been put back together

and now even if I break more
And shatter into tiny, minuscule, incomprehensible pieces
It just wouldn’t matter at this point
And that’s why it doesn’t hurt

Maybe it’s not a bad thing
To be spared from more pain
But it would be nice to feel something sometimes
Even if it is searing hot pain

To know that I’m alive
To know that I feel

if not now, then when?