Finally, after days I awake, with the sun feeling motivated. Last night’s drunken stumbles conjured thoughts so priceless they could not be bought. Where was my pen then!
Inspiration can be a terrorizing nuisance. Or, perhaps that it just an accurate description for my problems.
Master the Pain. Don’t go back there again. How dare you in the first place! The big O–
Have you seen it around here?
I swear it’s been years.
Delusion is another tricky bastard. Once you let him in its a real sore to get him to leave again.
Morning musings don’t touch the grandeur or poineicy of the surfacing inspirations of last nights toasty libations.
Pizza for breakfast. Who am I?
To allow a manipulator into my bed.
What kind of inner strength says, “Here eat my pussy instead.” He sure is good at it.
My painful inspirations have found their way into my arms through textual distant charms. Then upon presence personally reveal to me the depth of discomfort allowed in by my illusions & desperate attempt to feel love.
Who am I? To move forward in relations while my neck hair stood on end?
Yes, how & where will this all end?
Why did I go back again?
& what is the advantage of simply hitting send?
I’m ready to sleep again.
: ) (: