No Matter The Floor You Pass Out On

I awake as any other madman slash poet.
Apon the floor  naked  pizza box for pillow a members only jacket for a blanket.
yes the libary sure has changed over the years.

less and less people were reading buggets were cut meaning
libraryies were under staffed and rarely did anyone dare venture into
the stacks  and thank good for that. Cause being i preffered free sleeping
it was probaly for the best.

but no matter the the floor you pass out on most all fine
american men wake up with are god given birth rite.
That which after a trip to the restroom like
that early morning madness that was christmas  pressent openning
was over way to fast and was kinda disapointing.

Floors werent the best beds in the world in fact they
****** altogather but drinking and common sense dont even
belong in the same room togather.

Portsmouth Va  was a strange world indeed a place where upscale colided with skidrow.
Me I preffer the company of a outdoor sleeper to that of a
spoiled spoon fed yuppie ****.
the art school cranked out angst ridden buble people by the second.

They walked the street soaking in the pain of life.
there heads stuck so far up there ***** I always felt compeled to trip them as they walked by.
acting as though they were outsiders  yerning to be mainstream
they'd **** there mothers on a mtv reality show as dad cried in the background.

Just for a taste of stardom.
True talent who needs that?
but no matter the floor you pass out on one
thing was clear.

In a world were you could have a bus load
of kids and get paid for it.
fame wasnt such a rare thing anymore.

The floor I passed out on was cold and cruel but surrounded
voices from the past.
the floor these hollow  reallity show bottom  feeders
passed out on.  Had to besoft as there heads.

Otherwise there brains would splatter across the floor.
And some TV exect would have a brainstorm  to have a show
were washed up celebrities would have a contest.

To see who could bore us the most with there sob story  
Yes friends id rather have a pizza box for a pillow
than a reality show  pillbox for a brain.

and the truth effectsus all form no matter
which floor so you do choose to pass out on.

As I sit on my curb
smoking a menthol cigarette
I'm thinking of all things wrong with me
and the world.
Questions fill my mind.
Why is the world so cruel?
Why am I the person I am today?
Why do things have to go wrong?
Why cant I go one day without disapointing someone?
These questions will  never get answered.
I could do it myself,
just maybe I could.
But choose not to,
for the suspense of the lingering
questions excite me.
Taking another drag of my cigarette
one after another.
It slowly dies down,
these worries along with it.
Finally off my mind
until I revisit the same curb
and light up a new stoug.
Every thought about
the cruel world
and myself
rushes over me like a stampede
of horses.
Can I ever get a peaceful moment
with my cancer stick and myself?
But that's another question
that will never get answered,
along with the others.

I think im fat on some level even thoguth i know im not

I never understand myself

I lie so much I dont know what is true

I hate hurting people but everything i do seems to have a negative affect on someone I love

I hate disapointing people

I love when people disapoint me

I think suicide is selfish
and i hate that i have tried it 4 times

I wish I could be perfect for everyone
Even if i lose myself

I wish I could let someone else live my life while i just disapear

I fall in love with to many people I lose

I push away all of my freinds so they dont push away me

When I was younger i use to hit my legs with hammers so i wouldnt have to run track so i could stay home and help my mom (Why my knees always hurt)

I dont want people to care about me

And yet all I want to do is know you care

I want my father to hurt me so bad I'm not recognizable
Then I will finally feel the hurt I have wanted to feel my whole life

I forgot how to cry

When I was younger my best freind died of cancer

I use to be able to think of somethign sad and cry on demand

I just want someone to **** me

I day dream about murdering, hooking up, and ****** almost every one I see at random moments and I cant controll it.

If you would have asked me 2 months ago if I'd ever feel again, I'd laugh then cry.
The pain I was left with was unimaginable.
I thought I would live with that hurt forever.
Constant shaking and anxiety.
Crying all day and night for 3 months.

After everything I've been through,
This betrayal hurt the worst.
Everything came crashing down.
All I could feel was pain.

Then one day I came back to life.
No more tears and no more pain.
I still think about it, how it made me feel.
But I could breathe again.

I had picked myself up and put myself back together yet again. All taped and glued.
Never wanting to give my heart away.
Never wanting to trust or love again.

When your heart has been damaged as many times as mine has, it becomes dark and cold.
Never wanting to let anyone experience the love, care, faith and loyalty you provide.

I used *** to heal. Not letting anyone get close enough to get anything but ***.
I was determined to keep my heart safe.
I was prepared to never feel again.
Which made the *** pointless and disapointing.

Then it happened.. after 4 months of healing, I let someone connect with me. I let someone make me feel again.
It terrifies me but feels so good.
I never thought I'd feel anything like this ever again.

I dont know where it will go or what will happen. But it gives my heart hope.
As scared of hurt as I am, I want to feel.
But can I trust anyone with this heart of mine?