Hey girl. It’s okay you only have 0.001% equity in your company. You are the primary shareholder of my heart.
43 minutes from 2623 lost in vestige.
36 minutes shattered within the bulletproof, glass as mud.
smiles crafted in jeweled mirrors, fictile facets of fictioned fashion
bewailed beneath haloed infringement.
in the past few years i’ve given up comforts consistency comrades consciousness cleanliness cravings crushes consumptions just about every except my cigarettes- and all i’m asking is when is it my turn to stop running and chasing and hurting and aching and burning and faking and hoping and wishing i had something to pray for and someone to pray to and something to turn to that reminds me of not remembering anything or not being able to move when my brain can’t coordinate my motion or emotion and why did failing feel so much more like success compared to this why when i had no control nor ambition nor motivation did i feel like i was winning maybe when there isn’t a finish line you always come in first but nobody’s counting and every once in a while it feels so much better to win your own race into oblivion than to keep fighting through healthier habits even when i do become what i am striving for the goal will shift just enough to keep the sleepless nights near and the eternal panic panic close there are far less toxins in my bloodstream now than there have been in years yet the sleep still eludes me and taunts at my dried out eye sockets and screams that i’m never working hard enough i push and i pull but i will never feel qualified for this endless strain something inside me smiles and forces that stomached grin to my lips and i know i will make sense of this internal Armageddon because it could be much worse i could be doing something with my life i despise but i don’t and refuse to and somehow somewhere some place some people a very few people undestand that it doesn’t matter to me if my physical form is deteriorating or that climbing under empty covers doesn’t cause my head to pause as long as i am doing just this.
my newest obsession is once again characterizing itself in the form of a tattoo.
ever since i can remember,
my memories have morphed themselves
into mangled masterpieces,
impossible for my pen to translate,
impervious to realms of any real substance,
most of which have never seen a substrate.
the gun-breathing skull overlaying a tattered,
patriotic pennant symbolic of the previous life i so nearly cast aside.
the deprecated soldier, with nothing to rejoice in but his shoddy colors
and self worth. the mistranslated italian.
the scrawled butterfly crosshair.
each with so many layers, such subtext,
that it’s almost as if i’m translating my own autobiography,
without understanding the original text.
even the impish aliens represent a life of rash regrets
in an attempt to maintain my designation.
my objective is becoming my own monster.
a permanent paralysis in a warpath to purge passivity.
i seek a natural sedative, a sleep aid for my insides that instills
idyllic insanity, that lets my mind rest at one thousand miles a second.
a fire that freezes.
an ice that evaporates.
a stitch that bleeds.
and this.. is the only way i can delineate my fascination.
the result of several sleepless nights in florida.
my personality glows thru this pic like lit matches in your mouth.