Update: I just took an alcohol shot prior to attending an N/A meeting. Go me!

I'm completely at a crossroads in my life right now. Once again, I'm afforded the opportunity to be my own person, albeit with certain restrictions, but I'm once again taking control of my life and attempting to ascend to a level that i know I should have already eclipsed. 24, employed full-time, and finally living life on the rules that are set before me, instead of being the rebel that I for so long glorified, attempting to convince myself that I was comfortable with the way i was living, when in reality, I lived in a fictional world that was induced primarily because of the lack of fucks alcohol allowed me to give, only waking up when my "turn up" money had depleted, or when the police were summoned because of my intense irrationality, and my constant justification of such.

As a former stoner, I look at the drinker that I had become, and have nothing but disgust for that side of me. From enjoying a few shots to drinking an entire pint of alcohol to fucking look forward to after a shitty retail job, it was one of the most pathetic times of my life, and in true alcoholic-Tim fashion, I hid it quite well, only slipping when the intoxication superseded my rationality, to the point of complete blackouts while still somehow interacting with other people.

I miss the marijuana and the memories it allowed me to experience. From driving up and down New Jersey fixing computers and phones, to just smoking out in my car inventing new ways to make money, it was a reality that played like a dream, and my descent to alcoholic played moreso a dream that was reality. In other words, I was happy before. I'm miserable now.

Making a conscious effort to realize that I cannot continue to live this way and be productive in my life, but I still long for the isolation and my hypno-sedatives. 

Progress. Or something like it. I can sustain extended periods of sobriety now, which is an significant improvement from a 375ml bottle nightly (on a good night, anyway) but I still miss it. 

Is that my sickness? 

Realization

It's been a long time since I've had the time to talk on here. I haven't typed, written anything meaningful in years, and I finally had my own awakening just a few hours ago. It all happened at an AA meeting, where I was able to deduce my own internal darkness, and face it completely.
My ex girlfriend was consistently right, all of the time, and I never gave her the time of day on her opinion of my problems. I was the "intelligent" one, mind you, book-wise, but not mentally. Mentally, I was an idiotic fuck who ignored those who I was superior to intellectually, and at 24, I realize my ignorance hindered me from seeking out the true problem of my anger, my fucking mother.

At 22, I had it all. Car, I worked for myself, I had a beautiful woman I could claim as my own, and I was attending college. Some would claim that my life was "great", but I never felt like that. I began to abuse marijuana to achieve a severe spike in my endorphins, because it was never enough. Ever. Nothing made me completely happy. I needed marijuana to fill a void that I, for years, stated it was because of the abuse I suffered as a child, mainly through my step-father. I was able to realize that, while he played a part in my dysfunction as a child, he wasn't the root, just a fucking branch that I isolated as the problem. It wasn't until I lost nearly everything and was forced to move back down to Maryland, that I figured out it wasn't him that I harbored my anger towards. It was her.
I beat the shit out that man nearly a year ago. I put him in the hospital, I bruised him physically and mentally. I told everyone that once I released all of this anger I had contained at him, I would be "fixed". Beating the shit out of him, while it served my ego extensively, it didn't solve shit. Before I knew it, I became an alcoholic, because it started to release the "real" me. The unfiltered "I don't give a shit about your opinion and fuck you by the way" me. It made me superficially happy, only while I had the drink inside of me. It didn't last once my body purged the ethanol out of my system. It didn't occur to me that maybe she was the stress in my life that I didn't let go. That she was the root cause of everything. That she was the enabler.

I figured that out once I voluntarily checked myself into a recovery house. Initially, I even regretted, and at times fought the decision to move into here, but I can honestly say it was the best thing that has happened to me. I'm mostly sober, I no longer feel the burdens and responsibilities in my life that I unfairly had placed on me. I no longer have to worry about my money being stolen from my own mother, I do not have to be subjected to the persistent abuse from my mother that, at times, made me want to shove a knife deep into her chest and watch her suffer in pain slowly, as I had to do for years.
I'm away now. My endorphins escape, and there's not a need for the alcohol or the marijuana to force their expulsion. It's a beautiful feeling. I'm not fixed yet, but I'm starting to reach a point that I can accept my life as my life, and worry about Timothy. For years, I was worried about things that I had no real reason to worry about. I realized that my mother was dragging me down, and that's the reason she was unable to find a consistent partner in her life. I realized that, once the cancer is removed, there's the possibility of recovery.

So here I am.

| | |>

I remember when you held me, when you kissed me, and told me I was special. Kissed my bruise when I fell down, taught me how to ride a bike. You taught me how to read. You tried. I'll always love you.

And, you, remember when we played Madden 10 times that one night and I beat you 9-1? You probably don't want to remember that one haha. College was the worst, how'd we pass?

I could gaze at you for hours, my heart latched onto you simply from your interaction, satisfying my cravings until my tolerance built up. Aye, aye? I run this. I smirked, so smile. Show the world what I fell so in love with. I'd trade 2 of my last 3 minutes just to smell your sticky sweet aroma.

You'll always be my favorite, you were the first. I asked for you, and you graced me, 10 years your senior. Then you, and you. I've been terrible as a sibling, but understand that I love all of you. To know you're all smart and have bright futures ahead...

See you.

Stupidus Pathëticus

There's a multitude of ways I could describe the pain in my heart that I seemingly cause. I could rationally deduce that it's my mind producing these emotions, but I don't feel the conflict in my mind. I feel the conflict in my heart. I feel physically depleted over a pain that shouldn't be so crippling. 

Abused drugs so I wouldn't have to suffer the torment. Swallowed sleeping pills in an attempt to remain asleep, unsuccessfully awaking groggily repeatedly, eyes darting towards the nightstand with a messy 1/8th bag of marijuana, hoping I remembered that I bought a cigarillo. That's what I'm becoming (or have I become?), a self loathing drug abuser with a vicious mentality of unbridled hatred towards everyone and everything for pain I caused myself. 

An unjust sense of entitlement plagues my stupid perception of my life, and the humans that encompass it. Believing I'm cognitively inclined, yet suffering with the simplest of problems. The pains that cripple me would be laughter to normals, my stupid fucking problems would make others frown upon me, scoffing them as irrelevant.  

Fire

My thoughts and desires confuse me. They confuse me because though they are simplistic in nature, the difficulty in obtaining such desires stress the question, is it really worth it?

Simplicity in difficulty... a hell of an oxymoron. I'm trying to figure myself out and you fill my blanks. I say why I did something and I don't have to explain my reasoning to you, because you know me.

I think the level of comfort and attachment you develop with a person ties with a compilation of both bad and good experiences, and how those experiences weigh upon each other. You had be figured out though before we even crossed the friendship plateau. You didn't see a marijuana addict with a fucked up mask, you saw me...as you would say, "Timothy".

You loved me like no other, and it made me question the love I had for the woman I was "in love" with two years ago. I was looking for love and I plastered it on the wrong female, and I never wanted more than to give you what she got, because as you deserved it, she didn't.

You like the rough me though. The man in me. As I'm in love with your innocent side, your wild nature turns me on just as much, your strengths fill the void on my flaws and my talents are at your disposal. If perfection was an actual concept, our harmony would be it.

The Fire

Its dark, I lie, its dim
Its alive
Our candle burning slowly
Our love personified
We rush to protect it
Keep the flame hot
Try and defeat our plot
Eglantine is Eve
Tenacity in T
The flickering flame grows broader...brighter
Don't you see Eve?

...

Fuck the candle
Build a fireplace with me

(Originally typed 4/27/12 -- Revised 5/3/12)

Sometween.

It's funny, I was asked the other day at work why I was so evil. "I wonder how you treat the people you care about!"

I pondered.

The one woman I have the most affection for doesn't even get me everyday. She would if I was with her, but as of now...

"Not that well," I admitted. "She knows how I feel about her," I thought, twisting my face.

Frowning somewhat, the beautiful little munchkin bursts into my mind.

I have an odd ... affection...love(?) for her. I care about her immensely, can write prose about her forever, she is as amazing as the first time we talked. She always remained amazing to me, overly important to me, I'd do anything for her, with a smirk.

For the amount of whatever I feel for her, it's funny, even I don't think she knows what it is. It's "us". An acknowledged like, a daunting situation, stress, etc, "us". I know my place, however.

"Us" always made me happy. She allows me to seep into a deep state of bliss, I smoke weed while talking to her, not out of necessity, but just to maximize the overall state of bliss she gives me. She is crack, she's dangerously addictive; there is no one dose of her, I've tried various forms of "rehab", but she's my habit & I don't want to quit her. I used to let my mind wander, get demi-jealous sometimes, but it was never anything excessive.

Something in between.

I write about her for the double effect; a woman that is flattered to be talked about + a man who enjoys simply thinking of her = ... a lot of words, a lot of chances to know I make her smile. That's more than enough payment, to me.

I hate...no, I hate that I..

I never go too much into detail when I post a blog on here, nor do I update on any type of reconciliation to my problems. I was asked this, the immediate answer was "I'm lazy." Such a point would make sense, seeing as I update the blog sporadically at best now.

I have a name for the type of love I display. It's broken love, it's the result of being abused for majority of my childhood until I was 15. Let's proceed past that, this isn't a therapy session, this is me explaining my love...my love for the fucking bitches I have been with.

Broken Love

A character so flawed that it shined in his transparent aura, a permanent scowl embedded on his face, brows arched downward, indicating his disappointment.

To show that he cares, he doesn't. to show his affection, he instead displays coldness and hatred. They ask why and he shrugs. The exterior, which is as icy as a gust from the Arctic, hides something much more pure, genuine, but he forced that into submission. The cold, a foreigner before, brings a wave of sick pleasure over him, his psyche becoming more damaged, more flawed, trotting a handful of secrets and burdens not to be shared with anyone.

It's a known fact I talk about my life through prose and illusions, I display how fucked up I am, how my fucked up nature still persuades me to find a female companion, only to fuck her up the same way I fucked up all of the others. They all forged acceptance until it became too much, kicked me out of their lives, but wanted to maintain a leash on our "friendship", a figment of their imaginations. I don't consider any of them real friends; I don't confide in them anymore; I've eliminated that aspect.

I feel pieces of my humanity slip away a lot. I've attempted to project a humanistic personality, but it feels so...unnatural. Smiling, talking, social interaction, I hate it. Darkness, quietness, loneliness. I've come to be content with it.

I hate that side of me...that warm, loving side. The side has continuously fucked me for the some of the biggest disappointments, and had probably induced much more inner pain than I have ever experienced physically.

How cold can I go?

Shards

Her wild side complemented my cold exterior. Undeniably lovable, but with a stark willingness NOT to show it.

Her beautiful curly hair contrasts my rough braids, my manliness in true harmony with her innocence, her flair, to call her a beauty would be an understatement on the absolute perfection that embodies her.

Nothingness. Blinded by sand, my eyes closed, feeling around, aimlessly, my dense personality personified.

She offers a key, but tosses it into the darkness, my task to retrieve the key which holds so much potential, a Pandora's box in her own right, a collision of love and hate, Hatred with gluttonous intentions. It rattles in the darkness, offering a clue where it may be at.

Dropping to my knees is quite possibly the stupidest thing I could do, death in the dark, my knees grinding deep into the shards of glass on the floor. I offered a weak 'ha', fully aware of the hopelessness, fully aware of my lofty success rate, and slowly press my open palms onto the ground, blood trickling down, following the path of arches on my hand.

A deafening roar erupts out of me, the hopelessness of my situation settling it. A once brightly lit room, we both destroyed it, smashing every light overhead, causing chalk-colored glass to rain. More blood rushes out of my body as my search becomes more frantic, anxiously waiting for the imprint of a key to rub against my fingers. No such event occurs and I begin to suspect that the key may have been a mirage, a hallucination I induced out of desperation? I saw her, I fucking SAW her. She was here...just not now. She never really is here...my heart is a game that she absolutely trifles with, I'm nothing more than an object to appease her boredom.

A sadistic smirk arises.

The bitch.

She...did destroy this world...our world, with me...

Didn't she...you?

Dear..

My imagination is just as active as yours, and though I don't detail what I think of you, thoughts of our rendezvous actively burst in my head, and though I trust you and can confide in you, I become hesitant to tell you what I feel for you because you won't believe me, and even if you did, what could we do about it right now, in the present?

It's easy to write about you, that was proven two months after we actually began talking and I wrote that poem for you, and even then, I was hesitant on letting you read it. I never wanted you to think I was a creep writing about you. It's how I express myself, I aim for it to be memorable, I hope I've done a good job thus far.

You're more than just that "dream" or "fantasy", I've come to appreciate your presence when you make a guest appearance in my head. It's normally a cinematic event, and regardless of how serious I have tried to keep my face, I can't help but smile at you. I enjoy talking about you, thinking about you, outside my high, I still think of you, and you still make me smile.

I may have realized your existence some 20 or so months ago, but I feel like I have known you my whole life, and I've never been able to say that about anyone. Our unique relationship is the highlight of the bonds and relationships I've formed, it is extremely special. I've never met anyone quite like you, and I'm happy I haven't; I get to experience only you. I feel connected to you in a sense.

I never thanked you for what you did, accepting me at my worst and maintaining an interest in me throughout it. I know I'm a hell of a burden. You like it though, haaa :).

Gracias, amor

Cement the Void

Realization itself is a pain, if presented as such. The pain of losing someone you love hurts because emotionally, you're still attached while mentally you know you have to force yourself to move on. There are many different types of break ups, and while some people can split appropriately, more often than not one of the two will be hurting a lot more than their former partner. It happens.

Nothing really compares to discovering the one you love seeks attention elsewhere. This could be the consequence of a break up, but it can also be because of adultery. In any case, it leaves the discovering partner debilitated inside, to know you aren't "special" in that way anymore.

An infinite amount of possibilities are possible to how one would act after realizing such a thing, I'm going to try to discuss my side.

It propels one to accelerate the process of acceptance and endurance because it's there, you can see it. You can stop living in delusion, as if reconciliation was possible. The day you dread, the day when "he" becomes "him" and references to "you" die out like a Dodo. The day of reflection, the day you seek some type of understanding, explanation, but there isn't one. You no longer feel connected with that person that you used to pour your heart to daily, it's gone, losing that emotional connection would put a strain on anyone.

Hasn't been the first, but it may certainly be the last.

Toxic Whore

I'm a lost motherfucker. I keep looking for some type of purpose but the passion ceases when the brain decides it's time to act. My mind and heart are as disharmonious as it can be and though I seek a union between the two, I can not manage such a thing. Aimless in my passion, I have no one to truly subject it to and for the first time in a while, I feel painfully empty. I remember this feeling two years ago, it was a lot more brutal then, but in its own unique way, it hurts more because my prey continuously teases me, allowing me to seep into the comfort zone only to be immediately expelled when I show the first sign of remission.

I write because it usually helps me paint a clear picture of things, a map of text to my subconscious but it hasn't impressed me at all. I've been disoriented, fully exploiting the state of intoxication to...escape.

I don't talk because nobody listens. nobody listens because I don't bother to explain. I don't bother explaining because nobody...understands. Nobody gets me, I'm just a fucking project. Something to look at, something to awe at, but it doesn't do anything for me.

The little things blind love can hide...ehhh?

Cheers

I've always attempt to mend and reconcile when there is little to no hope. You would think after all the experience I've had with failing relationships, I would know what to do. I do, in truth, I just never prevent it. I try to explain the reasoning for my actions and they're usually misunderstood or simply unwarranted.

I'm talking about this woman I know. I've blogged about her before, and she happens to visit my blog, but I doubt she knows I'm talking about her. I'm pretty ambiguous when I need to be, and since I don't want to bother her anymore and seem like a weirdo stalker, I figured I would alleviate some of the stress on here.

I can call her my friend, but she's much more than that. She isn't my lady, but I would worry about her as if she was. It was my way of showing her that I did care about her, even when I couldn't hang out with her, smoke with her, just be myself with her...no. Our communication primarily involved text messaging and direct messaging, occasionally if more wanted to be said there was an email. Phone conversations were rare and video chat almost non existent. Our friendship was solely solidified through text.

A first, I honestly didn't expect too much out of her. She was pretty, now she's beautiful, but then she was pretty, just another female. Our conversation changed that and the roles reversed...I was more ensnared with her than she was with me...and I didn't want her to leave. She was the type of woman I wanted in my life for a while now, a woman I was mentally in sync with. That is her. She's such a treasure to me, I treat her more like a prize than an actual human sometimes, and through that thinking I may have fucked up our friendship.

I rarely initiate communication with her first, not because I don't miss her, nor want to talk to her (obviously I do, I'm blogging about her), but because I simply didn't want her to get bored of me, to get bored of us, because I didn't want her out of my life like that. I could part with essentially every female in the world and wouldn't even torment myself over it. She's not every female. She's...her. I miss her. The pedestal I put her on is unlike any other. Haaaa.

Funny. I got that from her.

Eve (Appropriately Titled)

It's not a dope feeling seeing you. The long hair I'll never get to grasp, your love which is desired by many and allowed to only a small few. The love I currently ache for, the love that was so sick and twisted...formed into something quite beautiful. The elite group, let's say.

Being a part of that group was a 50/50 thing. Eve had terrible insecurities, which made Eve a demi-psycho at the very least. Eve, for all she cared, wanted my love and sought everything in her power to make sure only I displayed her affection. Eve hated every woman that knew me. I was constantly getting harassed by Eve about several flirtatious tweets on Twitter, old ladies at the grocery store, anything FEMALE I encountered, Eve wanted eliminated. In my world, Eve worked very hard to sculpt a statue in her glory for me to worship. Eve was extremely insecure.

I'm very insecure myself, but Eve took it beyond the cute jealousy. I never inquired on anything Eve did, and when I did, Eve would flip the situation in her favor. Eve became obsessed with seeing me "cheat" that her methods and consequences and that she instilled became more and more absurd. Finally, Eve just began to threaten the relationship to obtain her demands.

Eve knew how to manipulate me. Aggravate me, which in turn would cause me to "blow up" and later try to reconcile and give in to what she wanted. She wasn't Asia, but both women had a nasty trait of being "detectives". I love Eve so much though, Eve fucking looooooooves me. Eve is always calling me, always worried about me, and wanted to be the most perfect woman to me. Perfection and insecurities don't mix.

I'm not the only failed relationship Eve has had, and I highly doubt I'm the last. Emotional trauma tends to stick with you, for life, and for the second time, I got caught up with a chick who is too insecure for her own good. She got caught up with a gentleman who is too angry for his own good.

Depreciated Values

Every person shows humility. Some people show it much too late.

I tend to do the latter, I also allude various things, even on here. I have a personal blog and, while I talk about my life and my problems on here, you or anybody else who reads this blog doesn't actually know me or understand exactly what's in my head. The beauty of mental privacy, eh?

Well, I've officially had a girlfriend for roughly 4 months, and I was talking to her for around 7-12 months before then. Girl is probably the cutest and most consistent I've been with, her personality screams "please my boyfriend", but she's unmoving and stern, like a true Latina.

You'd expect me to be trying to talk to her directly, but there's a limit on what I will and won't do. Oh shit, pardon me, you don't even know what happened, right? I called my girl a bitch on a high rant. I punctuated it with confirming it when she asked what did I call her. I lost mi chica when she hung up promptly afterwards.  Shit didn't really hit me until she told me she was deleting herself out of my life and we would "never again" talk. It hit me hard enough for the weed to quickly lose gas as I started to realize it was over. All the regret I didn't have rushed over me, and a sharp pain took over my left side. It's rare when I cause a self-inflicted wound,  but it was entirely my fault. It was petty...I should have never called my lady a bitch, no excuses, but the point I'm trying to make is this.. Why should I even attempt to get her back? If I try and she shoots me down (the most likely event) ...I just don't want to get played, especially by a..the woman I love. Is that pride? Or is it...fear?

No matter how frustrated you become...don't call her a bitch.

Fuck you and her

Her features are flawless but let me retract my statement.

She's perfection, yet she'll never hear it from me.

For hours I could go on about how my world will suffer a period of stagnation, but I refuse too.

Let's try something, if I gave you my heart, what would you do? Would you accept it or toss me away as something new sparks your interest? Too much pride to be called a toy so I disallowed access to my heart. It'll never be broken, again.

You can't promise that won't break my heart, just like I can't promise I won't break yours. To show someone true devotion only to be rejected and shunned, it's a reoccurring feeling.

It has happened often enough.

It made me push you the fuck away from me because I know you're going to leave. Maybe I sped up the process, but you were bound to leave. Every, literally, every bitch left. I told you before there must obviously be something wrong with me if I'm unable to effectively click with my partner(s).

Have you lived through life afraid of who to love because you may love the wrong person again? You graciously give whoever you're with the benefit of the doubt because you're supposed to be a representation of future events, but how often does it really end like that?

I can't name a time. Sure, nobody is perfect and I'm far from that, but I wouldn't care as much if they didn't complain about how cold I was, finally gave them what they wanted, and shortly afterwards, it's over.

It really makes me regret wasting more time with people. Why is it detrimental that I find a companion? Maybe I just don't need one.

Reality Check

When I set out yesterday to go purchase some marijuana, I didn't expect to get one of the most in depth reality checks ever. From a very unlikely person, too. My weedman, in all of his drunken glory, reflected on himself. In turn, I also reflected upon myself and my life.

He was extremely drunk by the time I met up with him, and I didn't plan to actually have a real conversation. In fact, the plan was for me to purchase my weed and just go home and chill. Chilling is something I've resorted to doing more often, my laziness is at an all time high. Just read this. It may be a reality check for all of us.

I met up with him around 11:39 pm last night, attempting to purchase marijuana to remedy my own depression. I immediately sensed he was drunk, and being bored, I agreed to give him several rides around the area. We eventually got to his residence, where he began to talk. He was talking throughout the ride, but nothing noteworthy.

"I don't understand why the fuck I'm here right now bruh...I have all of this fucking talent and I'm right here. I'm here, fucking stuck. That bothers me."

It shocked me that he said that. It shocked me because earlier yesterday, when I shut out the entire world for a day and a half, I thought the same thing. I myself have various talents, yet still find myself in the situation that I'm in.

"You think I want to trap? I have to look out my window every 3 minutes, I tweak when someone knocks on the door and I'm always waking up with the thought that I could possibly get knocked."

I just looked at him. I couldn't say anything. Here i have, a drunken drug dealer, confiding in me that he hates his job and actually wants to do something with his life, but he can't.

"The hardest thing in the world is listening to yourself. It's hard because it's you, you can do whatever you feel like. You can say that you'll only spend $20 dollars today, but if you spend $40, that's fine because it's you. Me and you bruh, we make money. A good amount of money. Guess what else?"

His eyes were half-closed by now.

"Waddup fam?" I asked. I wanted to know what he was thinking. 

"We don't have shit to show for it. I look exactly the same since I met you 5 months ago, and you look the same too. I'm not trying to be disrespectful or rude, but we obviously can't listen to ourselves."

Bingo. A drunken drug dealer just gave me the answer. Because I'm aware of how much money I can potentially generate, I'm lenient on how I spend it, when I should be saving it. I can make 50 dollars, and spend 80. It isn't logical.

I do not listen to Timothy Stevenson, Jr. 

When will I start is the question...

Lust

Let's introduce Tim, who is bright, but dim

Then we enter her and aha, let the games begin

More than my friend but less than mines

Tireless nights pondering if our hearts will eventually intertwine

The phone calls at first were all play..

..until it became obviously our feelings didn't participate

I miss you when you're gone

I hate when you're here

I blame you when shit goes wrong

I loathe it when you're not near

I treat you like mines and I shouldn't..

The constant cries from you begging to bear my child..

And I wouldn't

Explicit thoughts and dry words conceal my innermost feelings for you, and have you confused. Why? Because you yourself don't know the truth.

Can I make you believe certain things I recycle for the wrong reasons, and maybe even...win your heart from that nigga, fuck it call it treason.

To take you from him would be to betray my kin, selfishly giving into the demands of my dick for its next fix.

I'm not worried.

I look down, then up, not for God but to the clouds as they meld together. The desire to claim her as my own is so overpowering. I don't care who i have to go through...there isn't another woman like her

An ode to the betrayal of my brother.

A lack of..

I'm a very confusing man. I complain, I deceive, I'm all-around not a good person. I worry about myself and care very little for the human race outside the people I do show some of my affection to. And in that instance, i realize, I'm a cold person on the exterior. I do have a warm heart, she can probably tell you that, but who else can tell you that?

That's when the cricket noise comes in.

I can't say at this point that I technically care. I don't. I don't care how people perceive me...my purpose isn't to please you, but in reality, to please my mental.

Weed
Head
Money
Pussy
Car
Clothes

Oh shit, I actually do get all of that stuff, that's the funny part. Regardless, I can't really say I'm "happy". I'm barely content. I'm not impressed with what vie accomplished; quite the contrary in fact. I do the stuff I do because I make a reasonable amount of money without...i suppose doing too much.

I cannot write a fucking book.
I cannot write poetry at will anymore.
I cannot make a studio-quality beat with the PC-based program called FL Studio.

Okay, I'm reaching with the last option haha. Seriously, a talent that I have only seems aroused when I have a muse.

I don't have such a thing.

And here I am.

Mic Please

I told her I loved her. I was fucking around at first, just something to say to get her giddy, and she'd quickly shoot me down.

I ain't really need her... I barely called her
She was just ... there.
I didn't care..

The chick understood me though. Well, I can't really say that. I think only one woman gets me, but she accurately analyzed me. Thinking about it now, I was probably an analytical project. I was crazy though.

I put my emotions in her
A vessel..a shell
That vessel evolved.
The only human I called.

I don't .. fuck with a lot of people, not like I used to. I stopped because with me affiliating with my friends, I usually get into trouble. With me being quiet and peaceful, I have changed in a man. I became reliant on her because she was one of the few I found interest in, could talk to and be myself...my psychotic self.

It started off beautiful..then it twisted.
The conversations shorter
The talking evolved into bitching...

I started to get annoying, something I never want to do. That isn't me.

My lack of respect, I guess, drove her away. Fuck it though, I don't get a fuck. I really don't. Fuck her, as a matter of fact. Shit, I'm me, I'm from D.C.... that means I'm .. I don't fucking know.

I miss her. I'm not going to apologize though.
My pride MUST...must be salvaged.

I guess I can say I miss you. You don't read this anyway, so it's not like you're reading this.

Sigh.