?

I can't keep up.

You are so temperamental.

The difficulty I have distinguishing what's genuine and what's disappearing is immense.

Give me a fucking clue.

Please.

Exhale

I dug this old poem up which I wrote when I was 15 years old. It gave me shivers when I read it today. 

I don't know if at the time, I intended the girl in the poem to be based on myself.

Perhaps I did.

It's lonesome here

The ground is cold

The first drag of a cigarette is always the strongest

The sweet taste of rum is still on her lips

The bottle is in pieces

Her toes walk across the broken glass

Red paints the ground

She shows no distress

She just watches the smoke exit out of her lungs

Stumbling, she hits the ground hard

She is staring now, impassively at the empty wall

A small, wet drop runs down her cheek

And then she remembers why she is here

Untitled

About two years ago, I sat with 3 of the most incredible people I've come across. Somehow, we came onto the topic of devastation in our lives. 

Remarkably, everyone had something to contribute. 

Some of these people I have lost contact with since.

But that night changed my life. And as I will never forget what they told me, three conversations that moved me to the core, here they are in the best and most honest way I can explain:

She starts first

The words flow unreservedly from her mouth

The sudden sentiment of fear is overcome

Memories of power, love and pain are reminisced 

Our attention is trusted

"He rubbed my feet when he was dying"

The silence is deafening

He raises his cigarette to his lips

His eyes are glassy

Though his hands barely shake

I am completely silent

She speaks her first poetic words

"She drank and drugged herself onto a stretcher"

Her voice cracks

We can see she is hurting

He cracks a nervous joke before slowly detecting sincerity 

"I sat there but I just couldn't cry. I still think he's here."

These words are powerful

I simply sit, observe and conclude:

Too smart to waste

One on one

We've been confused

A definite drop in mood

There are some things in life which cannot be avoided

They must be faced, accepted and eventually made into a memory

We've all contemplated suicide

We all crave perfection

We all need affection

We all want protection

But these are such unattainable things

Sometime or another, we need to accept the world as less than perfection

And until then, I remain a book with blank pages

It must be opened

Yet it is impossible to read...