May 18, 2017

I woke up today convinced I’d make things right, no more strife. I’d make you sure your decision to keep me was right but I don’t know why I do the exact opposite. Strike one nerve and suddenly I put a stop to it. Insensitive. I always was. Look in the eyes of someone good and I show no love. It makes no sense because I was pure once too. If I know how it feels then why do I do it too? Resentful. I see something I can’t change for and I get hateful and then predictably unstable. If life is a race then I’m stuck in the stables or stuck in a basement doing lines off of tables.

I just can’t grow up. Stuck waiting for my true colors to show up and save me. It couldn’t be I was always this committed to acting crazy. I had to have potential. Shit, wasn’t I somebody’s baby? But fuck that word now it only hurts. I may never hear the soft words whispered again. At least not by an honest man. With the rate I’m at I’ll be back in bed tying tourniquets. You’d think I’d get bored of this. And truly I am until being good gets too fond and I falter again. 

I just hope it doesn’t go lower than before. Nobody not even family wants to mourn a paid whore. It’s shameful. Can’t get through a night without seeing my neck through a cable. I just wish I could go back to when life was sweet like maple. I may have been in my room performing ocd rituals but I still tried. Even when people I knew took their life I never once thought of taking mine. What changed? I wish I knew. One day I just woke up and the thought of me made me want to spew. Maybe it was the sight of my face. It looked too much like the ones my mind can’t erase. Family. You’re only as good as your kin, right? If that’s life then I’ll accept my fate and see where I end up by midnight.

Excuses. I hate to say it though I’m exactly the same. Misplacing the blame and preserving their shame. Generations of pain only ending in statistics. If you wanna know why black got so big come to my house and pay a visit. It can leave a person livid. Watching the ones you love succumb to the stigma. Blood lines shouldn’t turn kids lives into an enigma but it does. I guess now I can only wish myself luck because the orange bottles surely don’t encapsulate love. Hopefully I find what I need before they tag me up.