what will become of the putrid uncomings of my heart? thanks to anyone who ever will read anything of mine. u can tell i have a lot of passion and no talent or maybe no passion and no talents? whatever it is i want everyone to know that i tried.
the dead stretch of horizon weighs on your spine and the upturned earth
it feels like the whole world is being swallowed by the Worm
like teeth are coming from every edge
like you can feel them cut your skin
when you turn your body and begin to run
your feet sink into the grey earth
your lungs fill with mud
and you don't even bother to look at its mouth
A fact:
Tomorrow will be as rotten as today. Tomorrow will be as rotten and melancholy as today. Tomorrow is already today. Tomorrow is the same as today.
An admission:
Today I decided to stop trying. I know waiting for change is meaningless, but I’m too afraid to try and fix things. I don’t know what’s happening in my head, or why I hate my body so much. What I do know is it doesn’t really matter if I run, or if I give up. The outcome is always the same.
An admission:
I think I’m special because I am terribly fucking sad, but I am only like everyone else who also thinks themselves special. I’m looking along the river and being reminded that nature doesn’t worry like me.
It marches forward, careless but with purpose. Very unlike me. God knows I will sit there wondering why I cannot be like the trees, or the river, or the bugs who accept their designs: purposed, unbothered, amoral.
A fact:
To always try and define yourself is a prison. The trees don’t care who I am, or what I stand for. They don’t care about how much I admire them. They don’t care whether I am a boy, or a girl. They don’t even care if I’m a good person, or if I’m dead. They will struggle to grow, regardless.
An admission:
I go against everything God designed for me, just to rot away. I’m not brave enough to change. I’m not lucky enough to die in an accident. I am pathetic.
An admission:
If I did try, I could be like the river or the trees. Like the river: I follow the path of least resistance. Like the trees: I’m immobilized, and see too much. I do want to try. Maybe tomorrow. Probably never.