If I could possibly bare it, I would sit down and write it all. Id start with the happiness that was stolen from me so young. Then on to the confusion and desperation turned rebellion. The paths I chose to take. The opportunities I missed and dreams I tossed away. I would write of the of the love I thought I knew. The hearts I broke. The lives I ran, through the fun and excitement that soon turned to destruction. The nightmares that were reality. The insanity that was all to apparent. It is too painful. So I write piece by piece the memories I choose to. I speak of only what’s tolerable. I take that shit and shove it in the closet, kicking the door closed. I have no use for it yet. I focus solely on the current pain to distract from the past.
I refuse to be backed up in that corner again. Once in awhile life is so fucking good. Sometimes I cant believe I'm still alive and beautiful and so is the world. Still there are days I would like my vices back. I would love my vices back. The familiarity of that comfortable misery. The wickedness that comes all to natural. What a dilemma. So I go on. Looking for the answers, finding a few more reasons to love my self each day. We discover new things . I am not as fragile or as strong as Id like to be. Its is what it is. So I write it how I choose to see it. I write what I allow my self to feel and the emotions that take over without my permission. Maybe I could possibly move some one even once with my words. If nothing else its great to hear, ‘I get it‘, now and then.


So I continue to reveal the drama and madness in my head


Think way too long and hard about things of not much relevance


Learn time and again that I am not the center of the universe...



...and once in awhile life IS beautiful... who knew?