{max out.}

everything i hate about myself comes to an oily head. the things that don't get done. and the things to fear the most. resting in my lap. like the child i never wanted. a steaming pile of my own shit.

i've been drinking these cure-all elixirs. taking hand fulls of pills and vitamins. supplements. to counteract a home brewed madness. there's a lot to be said for the friends that make you better.

i'm an empty bombshell. the remnants of epiphany after epiphany gone wrong. so all that's left is the casing of a great idea disregarded, broken and soaking into the carpet. let's get it right this time please.

you have to understand i'm getting very tired of all this. and my body is revolting. this is a cave-in, the last stand of a sorry self that didn't last nearly as long as i thought she would. so we're folding. dying differently than we have before. and for real this time. the brink of death has metaphorically always been so close. and we longed for it. but when it catches to your skins for real you come to know what life could be. and everything you're doing wrong. over and over again. our problems don't define us. they should re-define us. everytime they boil up and over the edge of my thoughts. we can't block this one out forever. i'm only human you know.