A day to daze upon the confusion of my disposition floats in my resistance to a dream come true. Thoughts of loving you and being sane could easily haunt me day to day, but my brain hides the good and expels the truth and I try so hard to extract the proof to prove the truth of the things I've seen and where I've been and why it matters in the scheme of things. Because bills and money consume my mind and nothing else matters until I take control of the cadence that I'm constantly trying to define, but it seems so hard and its not supposed to be. So somebody tell me what I'm doing wrong, because I try for the life of me to repress the bad thoughts and replace them with good and it seems never ending and uncontrollable and I tell myself no, but myself doesn't care and I try to be fair and repress again but my mind is thin and wearing down around the uncontrollable sound of the nonexistent matter that defines my correlation between whats real what matters and what is...
Poetry, prose, essays, and art.