A Collection of Spectacles


i scribbled this stuff on some paper last night. (horribly trashed). found it this morning. i fixed it a bit and here it is.

let me write this before i get too sober to wish i hadn’t. wish i didn’t have these. these vices are the only means by which i can feel anything worth noting. 

see, at the heart of it all i’m sorry. i don’t know what for exactly but i know that i am. which is a new feeling. geeze i’ve sent out a lot of apologies (both public and private, whispered in the dead of night) lately. i just don’t want to be forgotten. i can be a mess.

“i can stop drinking so much,

i can start listening, i can say hi

i can feel something good.”

now i’m (mis)quoting songs. readers may scream “cliché” from the rooftops. 

how come i can’t tell you i miss you when i do? nothing personal, i just say that to people i care about sometimes but i can’t now because i always have to watch my words watch how i feel. 

Claire came outside sat next to me and said, “how are you, i mean, how’s your heart?”

“it…hurts but it always does,” or something to that effect. i think i asked her to hug me or hold me because that’s what she did. i just don’t like being alone. no, i don’t like the fact that i always have to leave the people i want to be surrounded by always and go home to spend every moment wishing away the people i’m stuck with. 

then she told me about her meteor shower sighting and all was okay. dear, can you promise me things? i’m imaginative. i live in dreams. it doesn’t matter if they don’t come true just promise me everything. i wanted to say this. i want to say a lot.

i write and write and write about nothing. this is all probably about nothing in the end. 


note: if you post this, when you post this, please omit the following lines…


this will stop when morning hits. 

or is that when it’s felt the most?

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