(no subject)
what should i say now that i've lost all creativity. back "home". it's only temporary, or so i keep telling myself. sometimes i don't know what i'm doing staying alive. sometimes i don't know why i quit drugs. really, what's the point? i feel every bullet now. every sting. every twinge of discomfort. takes a lot to get up these days. as we speak i'm lying down. i am spent. i've had enough of this. i'm just so tired. i can barely sit up straight. the depression has hit me hard. i look back at pictures of myself, i don't even recognize who that was. drugs will change you. all priorities change. i took my sadness and i turned it into a complacent acceptance of the way things are. when i was high i could just shut it all away. i had no future and i had no past. i just sat there and i passed the time. my faint little chemical smile fooled everyone. i'm down to my last 20 dollars. soon i'll be out of cigarettes, my only vice remaining. waiting on a job, but then what happens when the job comes. some jobs i can't even do more than a week without wanting to kill myself. and i'm getting to know this new man that i am. what do people see when they look at me? i'm too tired to write.