mary... mary... mary...

Mary Jane,

I miss you. I crave you. I’m a fiend for the infinite solace you once brought me. When we were together, you completely anesthetized my sorrows and consternations. Alcohol and valium pale in comparison with their meager delights. To think you can be replaced is a gratuitous and perilous infamy.

Sadly, I’m deeply ashamed that I have to flagrantly and continually reject you, which must feel something ineffable. I know my cries for forgiveness will befall deaf ears, but I beseech you for leniency over these neglectful transgressions.

But, keep in mind, without you, I absolutely feel bereft of wholesomeness, feel disturbed like a crack-head in the midst of a schizophrenic episode, feel like a New York City mole-person shivering hysterically in the dark alleyways of life, friendless.

Grieving,

a self-medicating piece of wasted potential

i heart redundancy

The relentless impulse to write has become an insufferable burden, especially since my confidence in my ability to write has been replaced by fear of rejection and callous ineptness. I feel the stuff I have written in the past was naught of excellence or eloquence. My usages of arcane words has hoodwinked readers into believing I can produce something of significance. I have come to realize that the letters and essays I have wrote, which were meant to deliver a clear, concise, and succinct message of my thoughts and emotions, were constructed out of artistic delusions and not out of literary promise. I found readers got easily distracted by my inane word gymnastics.

And, let’s not forget about my astounding use of grammatical correctness and syntax exactness, which is conducive to that of a self-medicated, half-domesticated, vision-impaired Neanderthal attempting to draw symbols in the dirt. Everything I have produced reeks of sanitation, of overripe garbage. Alas, I’m talent-less. I possess no hidden silver pen, no sharp tongue, or mental agility.

Thus, I have come to the conclusion that I might as well put down this trifle pen and seek out another, less self-defeating vocation. I’m floundering horribly here. Writing has not provided me with earthly refuge from my unliveable plight, but has doubled my frustrations. Dithering in self-debasement, I’m beginning to think that it should be a crime for me to express myself in written form (or in any form), since I envitably fail time and time again.

and, yet...

I need to dream, yet I am dreamless
I strive to hope for better days, yet they are stained with darkness
I am dependent on luck, yet I am hapless
I have a job, yet I am vocation-less
I need to be thankful, yet thankless I am
I’m brimming with ambitions, yet I’m complacent in idleness
I crave change, yet i malinger…

futility abounds

No matter how many magazines, books, and articles I read about the art of written expression, I grow increasingly discouraged to manifest my thoughts onto paper. I would rather bounce delineated thoughts, inane ideas, and prosaic concepts within the splintered boundaries of my skull than defile a blank white page with my scribbling. My fear of social derision and public mockery halts these troubling ambitions to become a writer as well. Even If I muster up the courage to write, I believe my writings will resemble a vomit of elementary words, chaotically spat on paper, devoid of significance, meager in substance, incomprehensible to the outside reader. I’m dauntingly confused, distraught. I need to satiate this proclivity to write, but remain lost on where to begin on this undying, unnerving journey.

put my forty in the freezer cuzz im going to get bent tonight

I remain vapidly stagnate, indolently lost, self-destructively regressing to ill forms of managing the ferocious, virulent fiend that depravedly seeks escape from the shackled walls of the grimy, putrid caverns in my heart. My energies have exhaustedly grown weak in futile efforts to secure this ego absorbed monster, whose sole motivation is to slowly devour me with malice and lechery, from busting free.

Sadly, I have no other means to cope with the incessant wrestling with this internal demon, but to drown the harrows with cheap boozes and legalized scheduled two pharmaceuticals, which usually renders me in a demented blackout state. All other forms of coping have proven to be pseudo remedies and counterfeit solutions.

Woefully, death doesn't even offer reprieve as it taunts with a haunting and unnerving uncertainty. With not even a peak behind the formaldehyde curtain, I'm fucked. So, I must abjectly choose life. My internal reservoir of life sustaining resiliency is running low. Luckily, however, I have enough strength to hold this bottle of malt liquor tautly, forging down the bleak path of insecurity to make it through yet another dark day.

crazy night

So, Im sitting here futilely wrestling with a truculent bout of insomnia. I wish I had a bottle of liquor to drown the paranoia that simmers beneath the surface of my fragile ego, which keeps me miserably awake, but I dont. Im shit out of luck. To make matters worse, I just sold my last sack of weed three hours ago...

Fuck it, though. I got one joint left. Alas, I will savor this sacred stick of greenery and embrace every last THC particle that fills my lungs with a zealous devotion, passionately holding in the anesthetizing smoke tumultuously taut, and then, blow it out with a fervent yet lecherous kiss.

Hopefully, the weed will work its magic and arrest the internal demons that relentlessly haunt my beleaguered mind, letting normalcy reclaim some type of stabilizing lucidity, so I can fall asleep.

Indolently, an hour has come and gone, with my high in tow. Now, I am at my wits end, no respite forthcoming. Plus, I am fucking hungry, but feeling to slouchy to get my ass up out this chair. As rays of sunlight begin to trespass through the mini-blinds, every noise I hear are becoming insufferable nuances. I guess I have re-arrived to cloud-cuckoo-land--stay indefinite.

Or, could it be my parole officer with a warrant, a handful of drones, looking in and snooping around my apartment to see if Im in attendance, so she can deliver my felonious ass back to the penitentiary for rehabilitation, reprogramming, or whatnot... Who fucking knows? I am a fucking mess. At least I got cable.... shit!

biblically cursed

As I lay here scantly clad in bed, I'm infinitely beleaguered by how fear has so blindly mauled and mangled my potential for doing something greatly magnificent in life. From a very early age, I knew I was destined to accomplish extraordinary achievements others seldom obtain. I was full of promise, perseverance, and resiliency throughout my upbringing despite the harrows held secretively captive in a house of horrors. Back then, I dreamed big, envisioned a life without gratuitous pain and intolerable suffering, a life rife with unconditional acceptance, undying warmth, and a profundity of love.

These days, the endless drive that fueled my thoughts as a youngster has sadly dissipated into a thin smoke of disillusionment. Naught appears to be able to reignite that spark, that fire, that determination I once had. It seems like emotional ineptness only grants me permission to writhe and wallow in the harrows that haunt my heart. The intensity of such torment drastically increases woefully with every passing year.

Staring at life through the lens of troubled eyes unconsciously positively reinforces my negative beliefs about others, about the world, about myself; that is, moral decay is abundant, cruel savages continue to dictate social propriety, and self-depreciation remains wildly unchecked. It appears hope of a better future has been maliciously strangled, callously impaled, and set center stage for the demonic public to feast their fiendish eyes upon.

Ultimately, there has to be a way out of this dreadful and bleak plight. My sufferings must come to an optimistic end. My love for life must be recaptured before my mind grows ill, weak, and begins festering with an incurable case of stagnation. I direly need to find a way through the depravity that hinders my pursuit of happiness and overcome my fear of inadequacy.Alas, I desperately need and long for positive, perpetual change in my life.