Somedays

Somedays it’s just so goddamn hard.
The itch you can’t scratch.
Like a thirst that can not be satiated.
A hunger you are forced to ignore.

How long can this go on? How long can it last?
What if it never ends? What then?
What do I do? Where do I go?
Where can I go?

You can’t outrun your past. Can’t outrun your mistakes.
My sins define me. Pull my strings like a marionette.
I wear this fucking immoral suit like a second skin.
And every day it becomes more a part of me.
A parasitic relationship forged from greed.

Not fair to just drop your guilt, your self loathing, your regret and forget it.
Not even if you could.

Somedays it’s just so goddamn hard.

I’ve become the bastard child of hindsight.
Stained by failure.
Failure by way of selfishness.
Selfishness brought on by conceit.
Conceit forged from narcissism.
All in the name of what?

What?

Was it what you wanted?
Was it worth it? The risk?
Your hand was empty then.
It’s emptier now.
No one at the table left to bluff.
And absolutely nothing up your sleeve.

And that’s fine because nothing has become your new savior.
Find hope in nothing because there’s plenty of it.
Behind every door, inside every cabinet.
Nothing. Only the best for you.
Two-for-one nothing.
Organic and free range.
Step right up, you’re the proud owner of nothing.
Come claim your prize kid.

But what about motivation?
But what about the power of positivity?
…yea that guys got lots of nothing too.
And he’ll sell it to you for the price of a like, a comment and a share.
Retweet it. Make sure it goes viral.

Somedays it’s just so goddamn hard.

This isn’t self pity. It’s not self doubt.
It’s just the agonizing force of self realization.
No one is listening anyway.
Who cares? You’ve been singing this tune off key, out of time and with no conviction for so long, people stopped listening months ago

But there’s only one lyric on your mind. Only one word on your lips.
The one that’s always been there.

You’re pathetic.

Keep typing. Keep posting. Keep sharing.
Document your own personal bankruptcy. Your emotional decline. Your spiritual collapse. Keep typing. The audience is listening. Keep typing.
Everyone loves a car crash.
Keep typing.
No really…it’s helping.

Where is she?

 

 

How can I reach her?

 

 

 

Somedays it’s just so goddamn hard.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s