even after wasted time
i continue
to waste
the day
away.

the blood drips
from my trembling fingers
painting red stains
upon the pages
of a chapter

a chapter
in my book
in our story
in which it has
already been written
already been read
already been
forgotten.

yet i still sit idly
with my head
against this wall
as the pit of fear
in my stomach
grows and deepens
and as the sun sets
beneath my windowsill

waiting for you.

And if you just hurt me this could be easy
But you've been nothing but true
Your truth is just that you don't love me
Nearly as much as I've loved you

And so I have to go.

My apologies, for not writing the way I used to. I've said it a lot, but still. Writing changed me as a person, and a big part of my life. Yet, I can't find the strength to write anymore. I'm sorry for that. I try to keep up with everything at a pace that's not too slow to fall behind, but not fast. It's just not working out. I need to figue stuff out and find inspiration. When I had to do that, writing was my escape, now it's a burden. I want to keep writing, but it's getting a little harder every day. This is not a goodbye. Hopefully y'all understand it a bit better now. I'll try my best.
Sincerely, GSG

Instead of doing drugs....
Do me ;)