Writing. Writing. Writing.
It's the only thing tangible I have. It's the only thing left when everything else falls apart. It's the only thing I've to look back on... to remind me...
Today, for the first time in a while, I was severely suicidal. I feel like utter and complete shit. I've worked all day on trying to write a stupid fucking poem and I can't. I don't know what to write about. I don't feel like I understand what's asked of me... or rather... how to put that on paper. I don't know how to translate it. These stupid fucking meters are driving me insane and I am second guessing myself along the way. Ugh.
So here I am, to write, to whine...
This shit is too disgraceful to post on dA.
All I want to do is call you or be with you... have a fucking minute alone to talk to you... and I can't and I don't and I feel like shit because of it.
This goddamned house with paper thin walls and halls that echo because of tiled floors is driving me mad.
I don't believe in myself anymore. I'm so uneasy because I feel like you're going to see it. That thing inside of me that I see. It's not like I can get rid of it... I've tried for years... I'll keep trying for you though. Because it would be good... for us.
What does a promising person such as yourself want with a 29-year-old nothing like me? I can see part of the allure... but only part. I can't see whatever the fuck it is about me that you can. This claim of brilliance, beauty, bravery... I see shambles and 29 years wasted.
I'm sorry you fell for me.
Maybe that's why they call it falling? Once you're down there's no way back up, only through and out the other side.
Have fun on this wild ride. Maybe you'll learn some new tricks before you finally see just what it is you've bargained for.
