| my feet are cold, my butt is wet from sitting outside in the rain, my body wreaks of smoke... so now what? do i feel better? who's to say. i've been thinking about seeing a psychiatrist about all of this shit but i'm still not sure. why is it that when i smoke i feel like i need to write. save your savy supremisist comments for another day lovely. PRACTICE PRACTICE PRACTICE. everything is overwhelming. i felt like calling my parents at 1 in the morning to ask why i dont have a good relationship with them. i felt like putting out the cigarettes in my eyes. fortuntely i value my vision over my misery. misery. misery...what a weak word. i feel so weak. reed just called me back about borrowing his cigarettes. no pain no gain i suppose. i feel like everyone that i have a relationship with, parents, wife, friends is so fucked up at this point. i never really had a good relationship with my parents, not sure why....friends.....another story...a short one. i dont feel like any of my friends are really good ones except for albright. not being intentionally offensive but when i think about it....who do i feel is there for me at all times reguardless of state of mind....albright. thanks man....i dont mean for this to be some depressing love letter to him but....i dono....public enemy #1 right here...typing these words. i hate how things are so hit or miss with everyone. you call or say a few feelings and expect your honesty to be valued and maybe have a conversation. i've beem thinking about so many things. one starts with an S, the other with a G, another with a Q. ill leave those up to you, the readers imagination. i find it hard to press down the keys with my shaking hands. when i close my eyes i dont see you right now. i see cracks, things shattering. what am i even doing? im not sure i know what i want to get out of writing this but maybe by the time i finish ill have discovered some great knowledge. i cant sleep, and fuck "pulling that shit" dont be so ignorant. speaking of ignorant how about the miss-spelling of my words. "Just give up, no, you saved this marsh, your going to save more, Just give up, fuck you, dont give up" ive reached the breaking point and why bother...suicide is for the weak, wrong context. "make me a stronger drink barman" ive got the money if you've got the time. im tired of waiting, waiting for something to happen, calls, conversations, breakthroughs, everything. call me. no not you....there are two calls i would even consider answering, not you, maybe you, me, her, him, she, they, we, i, you. your clearly stuck in the concrete operational stage with poor egocentric reasoning skills, you wonder why i get upset. Look in the fucking mirror, look in my direction. my top three favorites on explorer all deal with you...does that mean anything...im not writing this for myself, im not writing this for you....i dont know is reading but im not writing this for you either. i need to feel any fucking sense of accomplishment at this point. take the iniciative for once. please hold a conversation with me that doesnt start with...how are you...i think we all know what the answer is going to be. im lost, can i borrow your coat, shoes, compass, map, car, house, heart, ears, any/all of the above. what am i working towards? why am i trying, if someone could just take me by the hand and point me towards the nearest bed/cliff. my dreams are not dreams, who am i trying to impress besides myself. 30 minutes...are you serious. UNDERLYING SYMBOLISM MUCH? its bad when you have a book called conversations because your everyday ones arnt enough. its even worse when you dont read it because your upset that your everyday conversations arnt enough. 2:07 , 3:07, 4:07 more, 5 potato 6 potato, give away all your posesions they wont save you. my safety food is nails, not the little ones for hanging pictures, im talking full on hand spikes for holding together 2x10's, they're full of iron, moreso than those pills that we take, good to the last drop, but is anything really good until the last drop, dont we find outselves wishing that we had more after that last drop, chew chew chew chew chew chew swallow, im only making myself stronger, what doesnt kill you....kills you. we begin to die from the minute we are born, thats olds news. my lungs are stained black and my hands are stained red, what hatboro horsham spirt. a true nobleman. and with a sudden flash of light its all gone isnt it? isnt it? full circle isnt it? isnt it isnt it? how can i feel comfortable flying when i dont feel comfortable sitting in this chair?i dont know who i am, maybe you could write me a short story describing it? oh by the way santa's not real, i wonder how advanced techniques settles in the stomach,it says curly and chic... most likely better than these nails ive been eating. the floor is dirty, my bed is dirty, the air is dirty, save me from this filth...and youll read from your computer desk/cubicle and wonder....why havent you called, why is he so stupid, why is he writing this.....i'm unhappy with this, im unhappy with you, im unhappy with myself, i live for......this? well, isnt that ironic...is this the feeling that one equates with love/hate? X marks the spot
"goodmorning heartache"
.::KEVIN::. |
