1/28/13 2:28am- 1/28/13 3:01am
recording such a mood
it scares me to think that i may have
actually killed myself had i not been
able to recover my work.
the past six months weigh more than
the past five years.
& i’d have traded in however many
were still to come if my load had lightened.
to have felt suicidal feels silly.
i’m embarrassed even.
i’m half-way to a panic attack when i
should be fast asleep.
i don’t even know who’s talking anymore.
i’d just as soon pop another zit instead
of writing this if i could find one.
if i looked hard enough i know i could.
my mother wanted to die, but i didn’t
i don’t figure it would be right to not
practice what i’ve preached.
what is all this?
i took more satisfaction in popping that
zit than i do in recording such a mood.
we may be coming to the realization at
the same time, but its become apparent
that i was never writing to satisfy.
i am writing more for comfort.
more for distraction.
more for direction.
more for perspective.
more to eliminate exaggeration.
i know that if i sit here long enough
eventually i will start to sound more &
more like myself.
whoever started i am certain will not
whoever he is i owe it to him to at
least record his mood.
more for him.
less for myself.