Incomplete thoughts
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I’m popping pills with the hopes of surviving I’m popping pills with the hope that someday I will thrive Someday I will be alive.
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I will always love you and I don’t know why. Our lives ran parallel for so long until they diverged. I wish that it might have been different. Honestly, I wish that our paths never crossed. These are words that I can never say to you because I’m afraid. Afraid to leave you more broken…
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Change is in the air~ I just hope that the winds favor me.
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I could have sworn that you were broken. I never thought that I would be the one to break you. But I give myself too much credit. And you never enough.
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I hate you. Plain and simple, isn’t it? No, because nothing is ever plain or simple. This deeply rooted hate stems from a place of even greater love. A love that was ruined by a revelation. A revelation that involved an adulterous affair and a child born out of wedlock. The signs were there all…
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We haven’t spoken in a while. Yet every time we speak it’s the same conversation. I miss you. I miss you too. Are we going to meet up soon? Definitely. And then the conversation goes cold. When do we stop fooling ourselves? There’s no point in chasing phantoms, only to trip on memories.
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Old lovers crawling out of the wasteland that is my memory. They have no right occupying space in my head anymore. Exile is best suited for them. And yet, I feel a subtle twinge of sadness. Feelings never really faded, only put in stasis.
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Once trust is broken, it’s gone forever. I’m not really sorry, am I? It’s more like I’m sorry for myself. The repentant liar. Hoping that my penance will save me from damnation. (written May 14th, 2016)
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It’s a family affair. Welcome to the breakdown of consciousness. Too emotional. Not emotional enough. Ricochet from one extreme to the next. No middle ground. But caught in this in-between of two extremes. Where nothing and everything collide. The void never looked so good. (written May 7th, 2016)
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Running away never solved any problems. Then again, I was never one to confront them. It’s all I had. It’s who I was. Was. Past Tense. Who I am now is still being written. It’s not about the alignment of the stars Or three women with sewing needles and thread. It’s not being dictated by…
Trapped In The Margins 