I like the sound of the rain bouncing off my leather jacket.
I like the smell of the *** smoke in my hair.
I like the burn of the ***** in my throat.
And I know that this will get me no where.
But right now I don't care.

I sometimes get the urge just to pick up everything and disappear.
Leave no trace cut all ties to the life I've made.
Run to some foreign place and become so famous that the whole world can see my face.
Or maybe I'll vanish into the woods and become nothing more than a story parents tell their kids at night.
I just want something more than this.

Note to Self-
Feed the possums in the yard
apart from the ghosts
in your mind.
Purge it back up
and flush it.
Descry it as
nothing more
than your *****
and spit.
Do not forget
to forget.
Note to Self-
You matter.
You matter.
You ******* matter to someone.
Quit feeling like ****,
you ******* matter to someone.
Note to Self-
Might as well give it up
or start over.
You've been starving
the possums in the yard
and your ghosts are polluted
with gluttony
as well as every other sin.
Knocking on the window to your mouth,
you continue to relapse
and welcome them back in again.
Note to Self.