This damn site is like the std that just won’t go away.
I get away but I always comeback.
I need to get my shit together.
Or let my shit fall apart.
Or maybe I just need to shit.
Either which way, my physical life is on the upward bound!
Alas, my mental life is slowly diminishing.
I’m missing the bridge the connects the two and makes everything fucking rainbows and butterflies.
Hello, again.
I’m not one for cutting, Â burning, choking, erm, directly harming my own body. ..unless I’m beating the shit out of inanimate objects, Â but that’s neither here nor there.
So instead, I start fights.
Because I can.
Because I’m a dick.
Because I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing anymore.
Tonights filler: bar-brawl-induced-black-eye
I wish I could pinpoint the exact reason why I feel what I feel, or don’t feel?
I’m not a hideous person.
I’m an educated person.
I have a job.
I have a home.
I have a vehicle.
I have friends.
I have family.
I’ve had lovers.
But there’s something missing.
So I fill that empty spot with destructive fillers.
Tonights filler: Beer….Mmmmm.
Do suicide pacts work?
Unless you’re a banana, of course.
A friend of mine sent this to me.
They clearly know more about me than they should.
The thing is, they’re convinced if I ever decide to take the plunge into the unknown, they’re going with me.
The problem, they’re perfectly content with life and living and blah blah blah.
Obviously, I won’t be letting that happen.
Anyhow. Thoughts. Kgo.
And at the bottom of every drink, another memory fades.
But only for a moment.
A temporary solution for a permanent situation.
I’m slipping.
Back again.
Here again.
Fuck.
Days pass. Feelings change. Urges remain the same.
Empty voices, echoing tragic lines, over and over and over.
It’s not enough. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.
With eyes wide open, I blindly stumble through.
Gun loaded. Knife sharpened. Prescriptions filled.
What’s a man supposed to do.
