It's hard to write
When one lacks desire
Just as much as it's hard to go on
When one does not feel the need

So what's there to do?
Find distance
How?
That's up to you

Narcoleptic sober *******
#Letmewatchyoudoyou
Too honest?
Just getting started
I listen to this music when everything goes to ****
Does it help?
Maybe,

Does it help that you weren't there?
Did it make you feel good when you accused me?
Put me on edge?

There's two different you's and too many for me to choose from.

Struggling against my own apathy
At what point does depression stop
And my own hamstringing begin?

I have nothing to show for today.
Some prayers, maybe
I spit in His face a couple of times

I'm lonely as ****
I'm ******* weird, right now.
And the sky is dark as ****.
The outside is dark as ****.
And I'm scared.
#pityparty
What if this **** was never meant to work out?


I see all the beauty in everyone,
And ****, you're all amazing.
I'll be here...
I could use that from time to time,
because I'll be ****** if I can do it for myself.

After every step
The grass attempted to
Recuperate
To bring itself back standing
But certain patches
Had already given up that dream
Long ago

A day without you...
I don't even know if you'll read this
And part of me is ok with that

The worst part is realizing the thing that you love
or the person
is what you're suffocating yourself with,
enveloping yourself in

I was drowning myself in you
And a day where I am me was what I needed
I prayed
I worked

And I let the soil
Wash away my clean

Tonight, all I want to do is smoke
And let it linger
Like your scent
Or your presence

I still love you
My feelings haven't changed

And last night, I was about 80% sure we'd be together
But we have to grow
And we have to help each other do that
But before that happens
There needs to be an understanding
And an absolute desire to move forward

I asked Our Holy Mother to envelope you in love
I asked for Christ to guide you
and me

And one day, we'll look back on this and laugh.
And I'll be 80% sure it was the right thing.

The prison of my prison
is my mind

It’s been about seven days since I wrote last
And every time I try and write this,
It ends up much like the last time
Unfinished
Unspoken
Unaccounted for
These words in a space
not physical but non-ethereal
Spiritual?
Unsure
Unknown
Uneventful
Every day is tricky,
This dichotomy of emotion,
And rock solid demeanor
I just wanted to write,
Say, “I’m here”
And walk away again
Here in word,
But with unspoken distance

There's nothing left to be written
on paper.
For it's all been said,
And it's all been read;
Most of its writers: dead.

Caught up in emotion, lack of thought,
or what else?

There's little worse
than looking back
toward your past,
seeing the good out of your missteps,
but still regretting them
all the same.

Ultimately, whether function or form
inevitability strikes at the achilles tendon of
anything with a pulse

There's a **** in my hair
Choke it out with a hangman's noose of silk
Platinum, diamond, and gold
Elderly women scrubbing under folds

This disgust, contempt, and ill begotten logic
of false idols, impressions, and spiritual fog
Breaking backs of lambs for the feast
And watching them writhe and struggle

Darkness
And on the sunny side of day
There's Ice Cream in my Snicker's bar
Spider-Webs
Lowered beds
I wish they had wheels
So I could drive by night
Assaulting with dreams and wonder
No nightmares here
Just night mares

Walking along the sandy beaches
Staring at the sandy beetches wondering
Why am I here?
Right now, at this moment,
And why for the life of me, can I not escape the demons on my back

The worst part of life is the truth
It's the hardest **** to swallow
Fiber for the human centipede

I wish my wit were a tad sharper
And my **** a tad longer
I had a mental image of a thumbtack...
then I thought of my ****
I'm not that small, honestly

Mental webs sprawling on paper (?)
No, this is the computer
I'm just typing ****
What happened to the days of writing in cursive
to show affection to one far away?
In the end, we send an text to close another day
"LU Q T, ILL BE GON 4 2 DAYS"

In reality it's me that's gone away
No sweetie, no honey
No baby here
Self-pity party for the rather queer

I am not what I want
And I am not who I should be, right?
That's the reason I fight this fight?
I need to be better, I want to be better
And that's why I'm writing this
Letter by letter