writing
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my problem is I love to be brokenhearted
Because it seems as if I search for it in everything I create and come in contact with. I know now it’s not for poetry but stems from the pain that dwells within me. Is this sad or life? I no longer seek anything outside of me other than the…
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When will it get old?
The more days that pass it’s me that ages. I stuff myself in holes of immaturity and self doubt, buying my way into the fancies of life. When will it get old? Maybe in due time—maybe never. I don’t mind the fits of sadness and despair—craving, desire, and moments of…
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Sometimes I miss the lonely tunnels of NYC
I’ve come to realize every city is empty;no matter how many people are in it. LA is just the same and I don’t know if I’d rather be lonely hereor there. Maybe neither. I’d rather be alone in a place where there is no one and not the illusion of…
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It takes something else to get me out of whatever
It takes something else to get me out of whatever. I’m on the train listening to the nothings people ask so much about. The worlds going by while everyone tries to ignore each other. I hate to repeat myself over the years but I wish I wrote more. I wonder…
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I’ve been receding back to my spiritual roots
Lately, I’ve found myself coming back to the teachings I once knew that began it all. What does it mean? My worst habit is tying some mystical meaning to everything that happens in my life. It means you go through phases. You’re going through a phase—again. This is what I’ve…