Lets start with my first thought:
How, pray tell, is it that over a month can pass by me, days can fliter by, moments in time, blips of my life-- They are all lost. How is it that I go days without once venturing to lie down in my bed to sleep and when I do, I wake up thinking it was all one day. For example, How is today Wednesday already? Am I getting completely lost in a dark circle of self-abandonment? Have I worked so hard to absolve myself of feelings of guilt, self-loathing, anger, depression, worry, and many others that I have some out abandoned myself--- Much like those that have passed in and out of my life over the past 27 years. Have i some how perfected the task of hiding myself, that-- maybe, just maybe, I can't even see myself? Autopilot?
Six months ago I would have blamed this on a constant drug haze, but now-- It's only when I get high that I feel the need to get out of where I am right now. Sober, I just want to sink further into this asinine pit of disillusion and insanity. In this place, there are no tears, there is only what I create. Misconstruction of the human soul and mind. Deconstruction? Self-implosion? Who knows?
Sometimes hours feel like minutes and days feel like hours.
Now, to paint my recent picture for you:
I awoke in a purple and white splotch painted room, a heavy down blanket that was once mine lying heavily over my body. I stretch, fumbling for my cellphone and laptop, pulling it onto the bed. Hair a sundry on my head, I shivered pulling on long sleeves, the wood fire had long gone out. My eyes adjust to the dark of my old high school room, still groggy from a night of smoking and drinking coffee with my mom. I look at the time finally-- It's only 4am and I had just gone to bed maybe 2 hours ago. No one is awake-- There is no TV to watch, no internet to use. Just the quiet of a house that had retired its lively hood for the night. Frustrated and still some what exhausted, but unable to sleep-- I quietly slip to the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee. I grab all the necessaries on the way back to my room so that I can at least indulge in the fine green leaves my mother had left out for me. Turn on the music, pack a bowl, go grab a cup of coffee. Before I can make it back to my room with a fresh cup of coffee my mom meets me in the hallway, she too can not sleep.
Is it that we have both seen so many of the same undesirables that keeps us close, even when at times I could just scream and rage at her?
We meet in my room, she brings some old rickety heater and we sit there, smoking a bowl and drinking coffee. I stare at her.... She is young, but when you look at her face and into her eyes--- You can see something, I, personally, see all the horror stories. All the blood, tears, screaming, scheming, hiding and running--- For years... Years of being on the run. Have I grown to be addicted to that lifestyle? Is that why I am bored and hiding from myself?
And... Idk.. I'll write more later--- Sorry but it comes in cycles.
How, pray tell, is it that over a month can pass by me, days can fliter by, moments in time, blips of my life-- They are all lost. How is it that I go days without once venturing to lie down in my bed to sleep and when I do, I wake up thinking it was all one day. For example, How is today Wednesday already? Am I getting completely lost in a dark circle of self-abandonment? Have I worked so hard to absolve myself of feelings of guilt, self-loathing, anger, depression, worry, and many others that I have some out abandoned myself--- Much like those that have passed in and out of my life over the past 27 years. Have i some how perfected the task of hiding myself, that-- maybe, just maybe, I can't even see myself? Autopilot?
Six months ago I would have blamed this on a constant drug haze, but now-- It's only when I get high that I feel the need to get out of where I am right now. Sober, I just want to sink further into this asinine pit of disillusion and insanity. In this place, there are no tears, there is only what I create. Misconstruction of the human soul and mind. Deconstruction? Self-implosion? Who knows?
Sometimes hours feel like minutes and days feel like hours.
Now, to paint my recent picture for you:
I awoke in a purple and white splotch painted room, a heavy down blanket that was once mine lying heavily over my body. I stretch, fumbling for my cellphone and laptop, pulling it onto the bed. Hair a sundry on my head, I shivered pulling on long sleeves, the wood fire had long gone out. My eyes adjust to the dark of my old high school room, still groggy from a night of smoking and drinking coffee with my mom. I look at the time finally-- It's only 4am and I had just gone to bed maybe 2 hours ago. No one is awake-- There is no TV to watch, no internet to use. Just the quiet of a house that had retired its lively hood for the night. Frustrated and still some what exhausted, but unable to sleep-- I quietly slip to the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee. I grab all the necessaries on the way back to my room so that I can at least indulge in the fine green leaves my mother had left out for me. Turn on the music, pack a bowl, go grab a cup of coffee. Before I can make it back to my room with a fresh cup of coffee my mom meets me in the hallway, she too can not sleep.
Is it that we have both seen so many of the same undesirables that keeps us close, even when at times I could just scream and rage at her?
We meet in my room, she brings some old rickety heater and we sit there, smoking a bowl and drinking coffee. I stare at her.... She is young, but when you look at her face and into her eyes--- You can see something, I, personally, see all the horror stories. All the blood, tears, screaming, scheming, hiding and running--- For years... Years of being on the run. Have I grown to be addicted to that lifestyle? Is that why I am bored and hiding from myself?
And... Idk.. I'll write more later--- Sorry but it comes in cycles.
