a head full of nothing
and an empty page full of promises wishing to be filled with the words i refuse to say, but won’t go away...
in the absence of actuality to save itself, my mind must be made numb by simply running from one dream to another lured into temporary bliss with each sip, relationship, drug, job gravitating towards triviality and banality for most of my life, i’ve done nothing but run from myself
love is a word that fills some people with hate
accept my apology in advance: i’m impossible, in every possible way, and i don’t know how to hold on to people, because i’ve never, really, been held on to myself
i am so grateful i was tricked, you see,
without honesty, as i reflect on your undeniable misogyny i could only give you so much, and only that much, is what you could take away from me so, i can only thank you! for your disdain and haughty contempt, confirmed the delusion i once called love
who am i?
oh, nothing more than a shallow adaptation of who i wish to be a saboteur, of my own making, consumed by the obstacles i seem to manufacture for myself all on my own.