Rest

There’s a hourglass in my chest
And I know what time it keeps
Even after all this fighting
I’m not really trying to stay awake

I haven’t closed the door on the sandman
Instead I built a maze to slow him down
Slow the shifting sands just until they can forget me
So I might enter that sleep with a clearer conscience

a monster

Then I fucking relapse so hard and I can’t find someone to reach out to a panic begins to set in. I’m so disgusted with myself that the people I can reach out to I pull away from. I recoil from them like a vampire from sunlight. A werewolf from silver. I’m a fucking monster and I don’t see it getting any better. If I can’t fill my head with the voice of someone I love or respect then it’s just me in there and I’m not good company. I can be sure of that much so why not just reach out more and try and quell the rising rumble of rage and rejection of self that wrecks my reason and resolve? Because as I get down that list of voicemails and unread messages I become afraid of over extension and when I see those replies I become disgusted by my burdensome grotesque nature. I am a ghost haunting all the precious periods of peace that people I claim to love so painfully procured for themselves. Waiting to strike like a venomous snake and ruin their evening as they hear me hiss incessantly or watch as I become Jormungander and threaten to release my tail and bring this Ragnarok to fruition. I am a fucking nightmare and a travesty.

Untitled

I wrote this in 2009. I was 17 years old. A sobering and morose reminder that this thing in me has been there for the majority of my life and I’ve yet to conquer it.

Insecurity.

It lurks,
threatens my every thought
Even those I don’t yet fathom.

I must be strong.

Wakes me with a kiss,
and with duplicitous panache,
stirs bittersweet introspection into my tea.

I must stand my ground.

Derisive laughter heralds it’s presence,
Ha! Ha! Ha!
an un-winnable internal battle ensues…

Please, no…

Really now?
What shit is this!?
Do you think these words, your words, matter?
How laughable! How pathetic! How naive of you!

Shake it! Just shake it off, my words DO matter!

Bullshit!
There isn’t any talent
inside your addled head,
even if there was,
who could possibly care?!
Why waste valuable time
energy and emotion when
not a single person gives a shit!?

Artistic expression doesn’t have to be anything but what it is. . .

What artistic expression?!
When I write…
Who ARE you kidding?!
I’m not trying to kid anyone.. I
Why pretend? We both you aren’t worth shit in this world!
I..

You’ve nothing to offer of yourself or anyone else
with your pitiful ”abilities”, nothing!
Look at the records!
How many have left you?
How many respect you?
How many have given you the slip?!

I begin succumb to the doubt, why fight it?
What’s the goddamned point of it all?

Fuck it!
I give up… no… we give in.