I want more then nothing the defeat of me. The destruction of myself. And the end to this poorly written story.
Do not listen for words of need.
For low whispers of a wiser man.
Nor do you wait for what will surely not come.
Do not think
Do not read anymore of this.
I’m a wasted person with a short lived wasted life. I couldn’t even think of another word for wasted so I used it twice.
When I write I always want to enforce some unneeded emotion on the reader. Something annoying. Something painful like a paper cut. Not life threatening or really that important but you notice how annoying it is.
I want annoyance.
I want them to curse the wasted time from reading this.
Most of all.
At 3 AM.
When no one is around to read this.
I want them to feel loved.
To feel that little bit of warmth that hides inside of us.
That all purpose innocent happiness.
When we look at the lone flower on a hot summer day.
A snowman some kid made that’s falling apart because kids suck.
The end of a book you just read.
That unquestionable bit of happiness that the world has to wait 3 seconds to take from you.
I saw her blowing thru the wind like the dirty receipts and empty Twix wrappers along side her.
It was far too hot for the coat and far too early for the 5th of jack.
But we see what we want.
And I saw heaven open up right in front of me.
And then I saw it throw up all over the stop sign.
And then I saw it trip over the curve.
And then I saw London.
And then I saw France.
And well… I was really expecting underpants.
If I could.
I most certainly wouldn’t.
If I should.
I still wouldn’t.
If all depended on what could be and what should be.
I still wouldn’t be.
Existence is but my life existing on its own.
Out of my control.
Out of my hands.
In the hands of another.
But that person doesn’t exist.
And I’m falling like a thinly explained plot for a story that never gets written.
And here you are.
Reading this drabble.
Pretending its worth your time.
When its not even worth my own.
I wish I could be a better me.
Its depressing witnessing every sad fucking second of my life.
I just wish I guess.
For my short bits of excitement to not fall on the deaf ears of the ghosts in my room.
And for all the thoughts I have.
To at least once.
Be heard by someone who cares.
I could say I need just one falling star.
One perfect night.
One warm hand.
And one untouched beach.
I just need to win the lottery once.
I’ll be set.
I’ll be ok.
Just let me have one miracle.
And I’ll be alright.
I think I just wrote myself into a deep dark hole of depression (again).