Boredom is often mistaken as exhaustion.
that hole in your soul
we all have
until we allow purpose to fill it
because there is one thing
for you to carry out
where none other can suffice.
You have to be open
allow yourself to become a seeker
to experience the energy
of becoming a finder.
Too tired to write.
Yet, I am writing.
Its a delicate world we live in.
Balanced on a knife’s edge.
Too tired to be
There once was a girl
She lived her life to the fullest
But then in one moment
She realised something
She was too tired to think
Too tired to care
Too tired to see
Too tired to be
So she moved to the countryside
Looked at the stars
And lived in her own world
Acorn minded freak
Words I sought to speak
Lost translations at my feet.
There She roams,
Chaos wielder, angelic healer,
Leave me be in ruins ahead.
I don’t know how to talk to you. You want honesty, I can only write it down any other format would be pure disappointment.
Irony or not
Here I run
Clouds eclectic, frozen/burned numb.
Perhaps I can lie two ways but I cannot emote in both forms, here I am genuine in sentiment.
Fly me high
Look left then right
Off they walk.
I want company more than food and sleep, yet I crave solitude. I avoid responsibilities to gain a chance at youth again. I pursue truth not seeing my lies.
Godzilla laser eyes
Slash architecture paralyzed
My inability to write for the past couple of weeks has partly been a problem and has solved my problem somewhat. What else is my mind hiding?
Smoke floats cosmic,
Bistro lights glow
Like floating lanterns
Concussive notes repeat
Empty glass, melting ice,
Dimming taps, horns decrease.
one day it’ll be over
there's always something that isn't finished
another task on the bottom of my to do list
my eyes flutter open
to questions and holes is my mind
will i have the time
or does it pass by too quickly
melting like candle wax
leaving me behind
I am too tired to care that all this procrastinating is about to hit me like a bat to the face tommorow.
It’s been a long while
since you visited me
for hours on end
sneaking your shots
aching where it’s not
I know you’re not there
a missing limb
yet the pain comes in
and then not for a span
My mind seeks
I’m too tired for this
And there once more
Jumping in air
a phantom spikes
the ghost of what was
insists it lives
im too tired to keep hurting
from the pain that you inflicted on my heart
but how am i to heal, when you wont
admit that you never loved me like you said
there is no way i can go on
thinking anyone who claims to
have loved me, could hurt me so badly
and not give a fuck about to state
they left me in
im so tired of trying to convince
myself that it wasnt my fault for not
being everything you wanted because you
made me feel like it was my fault that
i wasnt enough for you to stay
there is no way i can go on
criticizing myslef everyday and
listing all the things that you deemed
not good enough, and trying to
change them for your benefit
- one day you wont have this power over me
Shall I open my eyes?
Each day is like the last.
Wake up from a nightmare that only continues into, what?
Drifting back. Don't resist.
Enabler on My Temple
Looking at the blinking cursor on my screen:
THAT voice in my head, having woken up hours before me...
“You’re trying this shit again? How many months has it been since you said you were going to set out to be a writer, huh? How’s that going fuckhead? Huh?”
Well, you. I’ve gotten an editor’s pick, I’ve been added to private screenwriter competitions and met some great creative minds along the way, so I-
“And how’s that helping with the bills, huh fucko? You left a perfectly good job with world renowned health insurance for, THIS? What do your peers even think? What do they really think, huh?”
I...I mean, they probably think quite a few things about it, but it’s about what I think of m-
″I AM YOU. And you know what I Really think? I think you’ve been descending in your drive because you’re finally starting to catch on. You sit and wallow about the lack of responses and interviews you’ve gotten for entry writing jobs, but you’ve stopped writing...you think the bigshots can read your mind, dumbfuck? You think they owe you a chance for the Possibility of ideas? Like what comes from your head is any fucking better than the next person? Another cliche misunderstood writer with self-loathing and an overly dramatic sense of self-awareness. Wow poor you bud.”
At least I’m trying agai-
“Trying? Trying? You call this trying? You’re projecting your inner fears and ramblings onto a website for writers who’ve shown they Actually have what it takes to make this a career and some of them are just here for a hobby. You’re supposedly doing this as a full time gig now. Look at those emotionally drained little eyes you meek little fuck. Maybe if you’re head wasn’t so far up your ass You Could’ve Seen She Was Headed For the Door.”
No...no one else I’ve talked to saw her leaving eithe-
“No one else was with her for over eight fucking years, genius. You were engaged for three! Who the fuck is engaged that long, huh? You helped her through losing three of her closest relatives and you still couldn’t convince her you’ve brought enough to the table. What do ya think was the prescription in her life to fix her eyes, dickhead? Was it how uncalculated and stupid the risks you take are? That sad little squinter of a diamond you bought to ask that irrelevant question? Oooh! Maybe it’s because you didn’t put any effort into knowing her family. People had to be dying for your ass to even show up most times.
Whatever I suppose right? Not that it fucking matters at this point anyway. You’ve got ME. Who else could you need?”