Cant seem to want to be alive much
feels like its been years
since I can remember
a little girl
dashes of hope, here and there, but only for the future.
I dont live for the future,cuz we can die now
and if the now is a constant burden, rarely not, then what?
I dont want to turn depression into a habit of being
people write about winning the fight with it.
others talk about how its not a choice
from this margin, it feels like forever and never, of course I used drugs
dont wanna be a victuum, but i gotta lug around luggage.
frothy frothy, met a man, saucy, is a woman suppose to feel this sorta void?
drives on to imagine the hole filled with romance, and children and a husband, and a home to clean, and to knit out the energy, and live entirely for somebody. Is she meant to be this incomplete with/ without? Is this the force of procreation, lurkin bout?
If there was no longing there would be no sex.
but like I said before, any cornmeal filler .can pose as a thriller, gonna keep her chasin (like she’s born, like yesturday)
any cornmeal filler, all outside the self
I guess I use to know a pinch of this god thing, the preciousness of life, needs the subject to deem it so. It is not precious if the subject is unwary.
I know it is. I know it is. I just don’t experience it. Oh lord, how can I get back to that magic place of infinity?
If I HAVE to be stuck with my self forever, how can I catch glimpses of you, per say, even once in a sliver?