of all the possible combinations of events that could have happened in my lifetime thus-far, what if i am living in the best possible outcome

i'm not sure if this makes me happy or sad

there's a lot of "don't"s that i've been doing lately and a lot of habits from the past are starting to show their faces again

i guess something in me thinks a drug addiction will help me write like i used to

probably will
it used to

i want to write out what this feeling is like but i’m so ******* sick of my own metaphors
i don’t want to write about how deep the ocean is or how i can feel this and that in my bones
i don’t want to be that kind of writer, i don’t want to be cliché
i just want to say that i’ve felt so detached lately, like i’m made of different parts taken from different junk yards and i have a feeling in my gut that i’m either going to be a really big nothing or a really small something
i want to be good at something
writing and being poetic is too easy
why are we so easily fascinated by someone who can compare two unlikely things and talk about how the sky bends and how your fingers tremble at the thought of being destructive
this is too easy

I EITHER WRITE IN ALL CAPITALS OR NONE AT ALL
and yes, i smoke every ****** cigarette to the filter
yet my sadness never fades
i have bent and creased my sorrows into tiny origami butterflies
and sometimes when it rains i am the happiest  i've ever been
and when the sun runs away
i am the only one here on earth
everyone is teeter-tottering on the moon  
i truly feel alive

and no,
i cannot take away what others have given
and no,
i cannot find solace in my own words

we are all together in this cosmic game

when your favourite pen runs out of ink,
i hope you think
of me.