I want to be a fucken poet.
I want to spend my whole life writing meaningful things that touch no one and indiscipherable codes that every claims to get and so now they do.
God, I want to die sometimes.
What would a life of poetry be?
Boring. ******* depressing. Lonely and anxiety-ridden FO SHO.
I'm downing now. Heavy head like a dead giraffe and slow hidden eyes.
I could do it.
I'd just go mad.
Is that why God made me this way? Never a fucken second of peace and quiet that isn't accompanied by loud and tiring.
I want to write the books that change the world, but all those books have already been written.  
Bukowski wrote a whole fucken genre.
Drugs are old. Depression is mainstream and covered by insurance (except for all the times it really should be).
Pop a pill, go to rehab, all done.
Right, Nurse Jackie?  Oh? Oh, yeah, **** the pharmababes, too.  If you're gonna do it, do it good. Do it right.
Why won't he let me tell my stories? Will they hurt him, hurt them, hurt me?  I'm sure the answer is me. I hope the answer is me. I guess that's why I want to write.
**** me.
I can't do it on my own.