What do I do when I get tired of all these flights of fancies? What do I do when I’m no longer living for myself, the only real reason I spent the last 19 years alive? When it gets out of hand, and when nobody knows, it can get to you to tire, make you feel like you’re just living to expire. Every word I say sounds the same & I stared blankly at this post for 9 hours with nothing to think and no words to produce and now that I’ve hit rock bottom — of the day — I’m ready to say these things in this manner. Is this a poem or am I trying to write a song or is this just me thinking from a perspective that isn’t usually available for me to dwindle with each day? Like a new snapchat filter that you only use sometimes. A door that you always lose the key to, so long that you forget what lies behind. I found the key and all I can remember is forgetting what it’s for. So come and take a walk with me, let’s sort this out, let’s organize it piece by piece until we find some motherfreakin’ peace. Let’s make the stupid kill-arettes dance in the air, waving like a red beam of give-and-bend light: I’m ready to slay this shoot, are you ready to get my point? Get ready because this was the last photoshoot I did before a series of unjust upside-down twisty-turn slides down into the bottom pit of this ‘real‘ life. Continue reading below for a poetic explanation of how uncool the night of April 12th was and how April 13th ruined my life.
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