#welp
I guess if I had something more to say to you
I wouldn’t say I am sorry
I wouldn’t say I feel bad for you more than I feel for my own brother
And so because I am this mess
Not to say it is because of you
How could it be
A young love, a crazy man, an ego which made him proclaim he was God
And so I say, hey maybe I am not all there anymore
And I don’t have the best idea of what I am trying to get out of the process of emitting and procuring, are two different paces
I hope I wrote that right,
Or at least cipher-able
This is why I hate typing
The computer never seems to know grammatically
That I am legible
Hardly I know if people even care what comes out of I am so tired
The open book era has become a whole wham in the face
Other than that I am undeniably me
Man I miss the banter I could have with people who could stimulate a conversation
It is fun to feel intelligent
It isn’t fun to live, I’ve realized
Not after all of that
Not after all of that
And mind I type it again
Definitely not after all of that
Right now it feels like that’s the only thing that makes me feel anymore
God I’m choking up
The meds have made me so shut off
I would say its the meds but
You can put it anyway for a person, a doctor, a parent, a stranger
None would be able to look at you and say they can fix it
I wonder if they all feel it too or is it just me
It sure seems like everyone else would like to so quickly point the finger
A far fetched idea but what if
When we’re going through it, other people find the flaw,
Not realizing that in a moment or so, they will also be the same thing
The same problem
The same deadbeat painless looking suffering
I hate when I get emotional when I write
And I’m lying, but I guess you’re the only thing I have
Talking to people
And it feels like nothing gets me until I release it through words written,
Or left.
Feb 20
Feb 20, 2026 at 6:28 AM UTC
How disquieting it is to know the true character of a gentleman in name only,
the one the world calls “good.”
Polished. Charming. Allegedly virtuous.
Behind closed doors?
Less “gentleman,” more “director of a very small, badly rehearsed tragedy
starring only himself, his ego, and a remarkable talent for self-deception.”
It is almost scientific, the way he crafts a public self
gleaming, faultless, polished to the point of absurdity
while the private self skulks in shadows,
clutching half-truths like a toddler with candy.
You witness it, catalog it,
and suddenly, you are burdened with the most inconvenient of tasks:
organizing a one-person, traveling exhibition of the real him
for friends, family, anyone who ever praised him for “integrity” or “charm.”
Well
Santa Claus is not real.
But worse
this Santa is a bad, bad fellow.
The kind who hides coal in your stocking,
eats all the cookies, blames the dog,
and insists it was a generous act.
Yes, generosity according to him: selective,
self-serving, and absurdly performed.
And so begins the tour:
living rooms, dinner tables, group chats, whispered phone calls.
Each reveal delivered with the subtlety of a foghorn,
the flourish of a poet wielding a sledgehammer.
Yodalayhee…
lore and behold, he is a bad, bad fellow.
I will describe the very fabric he is stitched from,
thread by thread,
with the precision of a tailor and the theatricality of a stage director.
Every seam, every flaw, every glittering patch of hypocrisy...
laid bare.
This tour is coming to a house near you.
Tickets are free, the commentary is merciless,
and the cookies…
well, you can keep your own.
I’ve been played, ladies and gentlemen.
Nov 27, 2025
Nov 27, 2025 at 12:57 PM UTC
I mean yeah,
I still think of you
When the liquor dulls my senses
And the emotions ride down my spine
Hell yeah I think of you
Maybe it’s that smile?
Those eyes?
Soft voice?
I have no idea but
Yeah, I still think of you.
Oh well.
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 2:23 PM UTC
I can write you a thousand love letters.
And my hand
Would never get tired.
I can say your name a thousand times.
And my tongue
Would never go dry.
I can give you, my heart.
And blood would still
Pump through my veins.
I don’t need my love.
You can take it.
Please just take it.
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 2:17 PM UTC
She sent him a clutter of
thoughts
books
And feelings
But in the end she realized
He didn't care
He had already lost interest
And was looking forward
to his next affair
Dec 9, 2021
Dec 9, 2021 at 8:30 PM UTC
I talked to them yesterday,
I told them my feelings, giving my brightest smile,
They gave me one too, but one of pity,
I'm not the one they want.
I was happy yesterday,
They said yes to my feelings,
smiling at the possibilities,
It only lasted two hours before regret,
The 'almost' coming to an end.
I was messaged last evening,
A paragraph on my social media,
I thought it was to talk about the day,
But it wasn't in the way I expected.
They went back on their words,
Told me sorry they don't have the time,
I said I was relieved and that "I'll be fine!"
But all I wanted to do was scream for the 'almost'.
I almost had it,
The feeling of being enough to someone,
I wanted to feel that about myself,
But I wanted help doing so,
I cannot blame them for not feeling for me,
It's their feelings not mine,
But I wish they never thought me fragile,
As it exposes what I've hidden in time.
I will forget them inevitably,
After all I always do,
Suppressing feelings and memories,
But I can't help but think of almost,
And the 'almost' that was almost there.
And here I am in my bed,
Still waiting for that almost to be had.
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 6:35 PM UTC
Today I went to a party
I was looking forward to seeing you there
But you weren’t there
I wish you knew how much I miss you
How much I want to be with you
How much I love you
But I don’t think I can put into words
What you mean to me
No matter how hard I try
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 9:51 PM UTC
I like to walk on tight ropes made of rainbow bacon in my mind
Because deep below me, is everything I left behind
And through I creep through time, so slowly and surely
I rely so wholly on my insecurities
Because they excuse me,
The absent quarters in my brain are filled and drained daily
Like ***** , abused in the onset of the tide
With hopes and ambitions and new dreams and ideas
That are briskly
And surely crushed in my sleep
Aghast i gasp in the horror of my anatomy
How poorly my blood vessles are fueled
So I shall bleed them dry
With out a doubt in my mind I am in the right
Yet my heart beats so sourly when I fight
For love
Why am I so wrong
Why is it that nothing goes to plan
And they say failing to plan is planning to fail
So I plan to fail so spectacularly they thought id planned it in the First Place
Loosing grip on reality has its drawbacks,
Mostly though
The drawbacks stand,
That their is no drawbacks
Not one at hand
So clasp me right, and rig me for full sail
I've caught a gale my dear,
And to the heart of the storm i shall sail
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC