you can’t smoke, snort, swallow, or shoot this one.
writing
can be a relief
and a burden
all at once,
you see your blood flows smoothly
as you release and the endorphins
bind themselves somewhere or somehow
and you get high as a fucking cloud
when you let all of it out.
inevitably
you dwindle
on days when sleep escapes and your
body twitches and jerks as if to
make itself more tired;
it is then when you need it most
and then when you are at your least
frustration will wreak havoc on
your nerves and leave you lying in
some alley like a junkie searching for
a quick fix; so you’ll write pointless shit
and ramble on til every one stops caring
I am far past that point, now.
My boyfriend is such an amazing writer.
