I don't know what's going on.
with me or the world anymore.
we are both fucked.
but at least we are fucked together.
books are time capsules.
aren't I right?
I am, I always am, and I hate it.
in an hour I will feel better.
welcome to everything and nothing.
it's another one of those days.
where karma doesn't exist.
so don't dance.
poems are stupid.
I think I am dying.
I am right again.
I write this on my wrist.
at the black horse pub.
the girl next to me.
gives me the evil eye.
I give her my number.
keep going, so far from okay.
but it's okay.
nothing else we can do.
aside from little changes called nails.