Looking back 

Ive just been a collection of stories

Attempts to be funny,  to entertain

inherently nothing with me 

It bothers me

I bother me

I make myself sad

And refuse to allow me to be happy 



Its the exhaustion talking

Verge of existentialism

It’s time to self-medicate with happy instagram posts

blank slates

i realise i dont know how to be with myself

i dont know how to be alone without




hyper aware

of the emptiness

in my reality and soul


maybe i should fill myself up

so that i can be filled with stories, laughter and entertainment when i’m with someone else

a blank sleight of hand

a numerical

i’m always talking to myself

throwing tantrums fighting with me

scolding, getting that corrective order


there was no one in my life

that i could be myself with


without hating me

or being castaway

cold quiet rejection


why am i like this


crying because i cry for who i am

i wish this would stop i wish

i would stop


at least i know, i can’t live without art.

at least, i write


A side of me scolds so what aee you gonna do about that?  Being sad and not having a shred of faith in yourself is just an wxcuse to not improve!! 
And ywt my heart hurts because it feels right to be in so much pain