writing really is a way for me to sort through thoughts that i cannot seem to sort through just by plain thinking. for whatever reasons, it seems that by writing i am more aware of my stream of consciousness than i am by just thinking.
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over the last few days i have been wondering where things are going, just everything. i always wanted to know, always wanted my life to be like counting.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
like that, just one even after the other so that i know what comes next. and once i know, i don't really need to think. i can just live my life. just walk the line.
through fire and ice, i would be able to see death's disguise as it hangs on me. waiting, but no longer thought of.
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best thing that has ever been said to me?
it is, and always will be, "i love you."
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worst, of course, is, "i hate you."
from one person.
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"there must be some kinda outta here,
said the joker to the thief,
there is too much confusion,
i can not get no relief"
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you know, i threw away this folder last night, right after all the questions had been answered for better or for worse, and it was filled with poems.
all poems about a specific chain of events, that thinking, led me to the path i am on.
fucked up.
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i was thinking about something you said, and all i said, but i don't know if anything has any meaning.
they are just words passing through fog of our minds, hoping for some reaction. hoping for some point of light to attach to like a moth.
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i wish things were always okay.
but they seldom are.
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i remember looking into her eyes and seeing a life i hated reflected back. maybe that is why i let things go the way they had.
maybe that's why i had no compassion.
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don't ever tell anybody anything. if you do, you start missing everybody.
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