wORDSfAILmE

i am. perpetual doomed to be dependent on nicotine.
--maybe its just that I like the excuse to do something with my hands.

I just barred witness to either the sky ripping open, or the heavens sending down a warning.
a wrinkle in time.
because that was no lighting
I can clearly see the moon, slightly obstructed by deep violet clouds. and there hasnt been a single drop spilt from the sky.


or maybe this is war of the worlds, and the inexplicable cloud-to -cloud flash was the aliens being beamed down? [take me away.]

now am I just being paranoid? as I made my way home, I felt like I saw figures, creeping around corners as I turned down every street. silently disappearing; conveniently out of highlights reach.
and as I pull up to park- something moved from a corner spot. every hair on my neck stood straight up& my stomach became a knot.
who visited me on my porch step? silently lurking in the dark.
..

can you confess your sins and forgive others for their sins against you?



I snuck up my porch, silent. inserted my key- second nature at this point, and effortlessly opened the bottom door.
but as I turned to close it, dead bolt it from inside...
a grey cat streaked past; definate warning sign.
somethings in the air..
but my vision has been clouded. I can't tell what's there. I can just feel the impending doom: lingering in the air ...



---
I haven't had coherent train of thought in awhile .. I'm having troubles conveying my emotions correctly. or.maybe its just that recently I feel as if my emotions have betrayed me?
what have I let happen here?? I no longer have the same amount of.control I delusionally thought I.had.. and its making me mad.
or for.lack of a better word: self hate.
I don't want to think of the monster I've self-made.
when exactly did I.lose control? throw my hands in the air. fuck it.
I've got a death wish; I don't ever want to see old.


...
&&I've got this lingering taste in my mouth: whiskey and coke.
acid reflex. its burning my throat.
or maybe its all the words I choke back.
I hate not to react
exactly the way you expect me to be...

or else, who are you to me??...

....

I wish your writing was in a book: leather bound.
so I could sit down- with a large scotch on the rocks
& try to figure out, how your mind works
while time slips off the clock.

I could pull your book off the shelf. light up a clove cigarette & try to work the carefully constructed metaphors out over cup of coffee. ponder if any of it means something to me..
.... I'm not quite sure why.
... .

tonight,
i
won't
go
there.

..

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