Generally speaking, it's quite a depressing predicament I've landed myself in if I'm pouring my heart on a website that generally has less than 50 unique posts a days. but that's okay, I'm growing tired - tired and grey. the blues change hues, and the colors confuse.
me. i am confused. i am lost. i am lonely, penniless, and hoping that the hitchhiker I'm flagging on the middle the country road is friend, not a foe.
and then i can't but wonder if it really matters to much. I've got nowhere to go an I'm not a rush. if he has some sort use for me, i guess it'd be history repeats is elf because I've spent a lot being a contractual service for those who needed help.
but it's help they need, just help they wanted. and it's that they received, even though it left me haunted.
and I'd like them for everything wrong, but i chose my life, and my life as i knew it was gone. so now -i am me, and me is not who i was, but it's someone else entirely, someone who obliges to perversions of strangers without a fuss
and we wonder we get here or maybe we don't. and i tell myself over and over, things are done, they're different, that i wont.
and the biggest sign of danger i can ever give a friend, is when i start writing unadulterated poems, prose, man i i don't really know and i don't care, what proper term this sh*t wears at a mile a minute with no end site, if i end up writing 3 or 4 or even more submissions, over the night then something's pretty wrong, and I'm trying to strong but i know I'm the rope
despite my best attempt to cope
i breathed a heavy sigh there. i don't know what that means. i guess we all have our limits - and squeeze into myself as i might try - I'm bursting at all seams.
