I try
I fail
I try
I fail
Eventually I will get it
But when
I try
I fail
Dont think about it
Just go
And you will succeed
Just do
Think later
I try
And wait for the next outcome

destruction,
as a form of creation.
annihilation,
the first step to evolution.
natural disaster,
the checks and balances
to human eradication.
it is the wars of nature
that breed progression.

Silence, I'd want all of it.
Running so fast after that button was missed
Too anxious to really make it a hit
Among everyone, there'd be admiration
A sun, or two.
But the work wasn't up to par for you
At least that's what I heard
I don't write for anyone, as blunt as that may seem
I still find myself looking for approval
For the work already created
I'm not looking for validation
To create and be creative
But often too afraid to strike out
In dissassaproval
Of work, I'm most vulnerable of.
I don't ever want to create a piece that has no resolution
To just leave an open wound or thought
Left to be just that
I feel obligated to share a brightening shade to my darkest moments
In order for someone to truly benefit from my shared work
That is why the pieces in my drafts, stay in draft.
But what I can tell you is,

I'm still not always ok.


I feel like my life is kept in the drafts folder.
Yeah, I'm always progressing in life, in the journey
Even in what seem like standstill moments
Of solitude and suffering.
But that's the thing,
I'm progressing
So isn't all work, published or not in life, still a "draft"?

None of our journies are over yet.
Let's share our drafts
And create our finished work, together

weights fall off

as we dance toward the light

another day down as we

wake from the night

as time grows on

it slows down with you

how could it not

with such a wonderful view

our future like the sea

everchanging and bold

but without some risk

a good story is never told

so I take your hand

as you grab my hips

and we both decide

to make something of this

7PM
Purple and twisting
It's a house party
Who the **** are all these *******
Where the **** am I even
I know George, he seems concerned with me
Holding his red cup like it's a shield
The guy never did anything but support me
I bet he's afraid of what I can do
But it's early, I'm all over
Nothing has even begun yet
A bottle of whiskey in one hand

9PM
No shapes and no faces
This tiny room of many people
Enjoying the mindless noise or some music
Dancing like there ain't no tomorrow
Twisting in shapes like they're fabric in spaces
Tiny pills and tiny tabs of destruction
My life's disgusting and collapsing
I know these nameless nobodies but do they know who I am
Two empty bottles, one in each hand

Midnight
It's on fire, but it's dark blue
I'm taking turns dying and spacing
A huge floor underground full of nameless something
Clearer than before, but still not too clear
Ben flicks the switch and they all disappear
I drop my two bottles confused as I'm here
I can feel the air looking at this husk of me
Tabs and needle in my arms

2AM
I'm seeing people, real people
I know who they are
They can't see me killing myself with what's real
They're too busy drinking and feeling life clear
Colors more vibrant than ever before
I'm bleeding from both of my hands

5AM
Aaron and Zoltan and others are speaking
Discussing things that are still inside reason
I'm looking for more acid, looking for *****
I want to end myself, it's the path I choose
I smash all the 40's and glasses on walls
The shards hit me everywhere, bleeding, no stalls
But I'm grey all over, no colors on me
So I guess this is what reality be

7AM
All these ******* are sleeping
I'm awake and that's keeping
Bleeding, high and drunk, I am just about ready
There's no more substance but time's keeping steady
My system is clearing, reality makes way
Amid illusions and fear, I find it's my birthday
Ironic that it's so, right now, don't know why
But on this sacred day, I wake up and now I die