I wish that none of it was real. To awake and find it merely one, big internal mistake would be just fine. The rope's end comes ever closer. I feel like nothing, that I could kick back, and never feel the effects of my drop out. I wish again, and my words don't cut it. I mean, I really want this, this end, oblivion, rest, relaxation. I've got to stop drinking, that's for taken. Maybe it's the only way. "Stretching out" whenever I can is not the best idea. A little control, maybe more solace. The people, they mislead me. They tell me things that only confuse or involve me in realms I can't know. Run away, Run away. Bang. Gun through the window. What an end.
Have yourself a merry little prance,
about the eucalyptus and gyrate,
past the shimmering pants,
and don't forget to ask about my rate.
I want to crawl back in that bed/oblivion!!!!
On Xmas of 1992 my brother gave me this journal made of recycled paper with a twig pencil. I eventually filled it up sporadically up to 1995. I dug it out, dusted it off, and started looking through it today, May 6th, 2013. I've decided to reproduce the posts online. It's raw and sure to be embarrassing, but I feel enough time has passed that I can distance myself, yet find a very familiar me within these lines and perhaps find the inspiration to take up the pen again..... Thanks, big Bro.
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