So, Gabby and I have been at this for a minute, and she and I agree the time has come to work on this as a book and not a blog. Kind of a perk when you run an indie publishing company with a badass name, Mind Shrapnel. Should check it out…
I’m struggling to add 1+1, because subtraction is a mean mother fucker,
Always butting in, forcing nothing into my reality
I’m turning violent on the inside
My intentions are shifting from genuine to that of the misguided masses
Life is proving to be meaningless…again
People seem comfortable existing in the lie
Naked flesh my edification because love is making promises she can’t keep
Maybe I’m chasing an illusion, maybe my perversions feed my self-destruction?
A needed flip on of the pain switch, zero.
So I need anything, something to jar my senses into feeling
Shakespeare may be proud of this modern tragedy-
Where hurt blooms beauty, where joy wilts in the crowding darkness
Always wanting her back after she closes the door on us
Impeccable timing in hindsight, I find so much crawling on the filthy floor
A scrap of nourishment…
An angel looking for her wings…
Oh fuck, here we go again…
When I speak of masses I mean masses of memories
Reality from fantasy
And who exactly am I? The woman that I presented to him?
Pretending to be whole separately.
‘How are you’s’ that I never cared about
From which he always seemed to stay present in his
Yet absent from attachment to the bigger picture
Stuffing the narcotics down
Dousing myself in vodka again.
In my gripped hospital socks, I sit thinking about him and mostly me,
That this is ending now.