how do you write
when you're
barely able to feel

when emotions turn to
wind
and desperation

if you listen
ever so closely
the melody comes in

the leaves whisper
to me
all night, long,

i forgot where i was
but i think i'm coming to,
while coming up

i'll cling to my writing
like coffee
and cigarettes

I know,
I know there lies no answer
in the bottom of this glass.
On occasion though,
it certainly kills the question.
And yes I know,
this glass holds no peace,
but it certainly makes telling yourself,
you've found as much
a little easier.
And yes,
yes I know.
The glass holds little more than a slight reprieve
from self loathing,
from guilt,
from the colossal weight upon my shoulders.
But it seems you,
and hope,
are always gone.
And the glass is always here.

So deep that it didn't even really hit me
I know my heart is the most deceiving
My snarls jesters I never knew it wasn't a smile my culture and what I entertained for a while now
Like blood pumping threw this crowd
PPP on shafts covered in mouths
I'm good at taking a problem but who am I when I can't solve them
***** on skin thoughts electric ***** flows calm down it's metaphorical inception.