Just a bit too bold but who gives a fuck.

Maybe that fucked me up when i was a kid. Being ashamed of having feelings, good or bad, feelings at all. I hid it all, and i ended up a poor excuse for a grown up adult type of a person, who needs help from several people in just defining the feeling achieved or avoided. I can't do it alone, i don't have it in myself, it's like there's a switch but i don't know how to use it. Sometimes i cry and i don't know why, and sometimes i guess right. Like, take now for example. It's like i can't breathe right. I see red every time i try to recall the drunken fiasco. And i cry when i think that i'm bored, but that never happened before so i presume it can't be because i miss a fucking habit? It just can't be, doesn't fit in. And i reach for my phone, every single damn time the space seed announces some shit i mostly don't give a shit about, and for a second i think that maybe, just maybe, we can still get it right. But we can't. And i left things go unsaid, not because i didn't want to say them, but because i couldn't fucking remember a single thing i wanted to say between the shots, shots, shots, and the slurring of words i wish to god i'd avoided. And all i can say is that i miss you, but she asked me what the fuck do i actually miss and i don't know. I don't know and i can't find out because you are not the first. Statistically you most definitely won't be the last and i'll will probably not have learned a damn thing by the time the next one rolls their way into this chaos i sometimes dare to call a life. And fuck. I wrote a variation of this shit at least three times in the past week, and i couldn't bring myself to actually share it, even though i know it will never get read by any other person than myself, i consider it to daring, too honest and i might feel vulnerable? A tiny bit insecure? I mean who the fuck knows by now, read me, read me and tell me because i don't know. Jesus, it's fucking liberating to say it like that. I don't know. See, not familiar with this feeling either. I want to ask what the fuck is actually wrong with me, but the list of what is right is a lot shorter and maybe we could all save ourselves some precious time and just say, maybe a couple of things. Maybe, on a good day. Because it's 6am and i haven;t slept again, and i miss your stupid voice and i miss waking up with a sense of purpose and i want one to come back a bit more than the other, and if you guessed right which one, then you know exactly why i'm asking, what in the ever loving fuck is actually wrong with me?

cold coffee

I've never missed an opportunity to hate on cold coffee
and tonight I'm comparing it to you
because for some reason i can't finish a warm cup anymore
i end up drinking it up at 4am
when the warmth is long gone and replaced with something unholy
you're cold coffee love
i drink you up and i'm not satisfied
before the sun comes up you leave traces on my tongue i have yet to muster the will to spit out and try my best to forget
i say i hate you but i can't get enough of you at 3am when i can't sleep
because you used to be warm
and i remember it clearly
how you used to be so warm
and i can't sleep
because when i close my eyes
i can't feel
and i must
because I'm nothing without these feelings
I'm nothing without these poems
I feel like I'm nothing without you
and i don't want to disappear
while i still know what dying means
i don't want you to leave this poor attempt at thinking that somehow you're still here
like you never left in the first place
because i never wanted you to leave
and i dwell on what's lost like it's the only thing i know how to do
while at the same time i pray that someday
I'll pour you out and drink it warm again

tootime

Pack your bags You don't really own bags so pack your shit in somebody else's bags and return them after you move. What about the next move? Well it's yours so i don't really give a shit now. I did my part and i'm on my fucking way. The safety net's gone kid, you gotta make it on your own now. And all i want to do is sit in my own room at home and stare at Johnny Rotten on the wall and feel bored. I miss being bored. And i miss that one summer when we were free and stupid and in the midst of everything, we were happy. Board the train you coward. You know you'll be just fine. It's just another thing you'll get through and get used to. And it could be fun? It'll be fun dude. I know that i'm supposed to feel excited but jesus it's just hard ya know. There's still chance for me to fuck it all up, never underestimate my ability to fuck shit up. No one's doing that though. Feel's like you're counting on it. And from the bottom of my heart i'd like to say "sorry to disappoint" but i can't say that, not just yet anyway. Tomorrow will be better i promise. And it's a fucking rip off. Walk out though. Walk out and don't look back, i swear to god i wouldn't think twice doing it either. Even though i act like i would, even though i say i would. I lied. I mean, i had to? Because it was easier to do so? What am i even doing anymore. Trying to save my ass i guess. Not the right way? Still the only way i know how. And that's alright for now. And i know it's not, but this is a conscious decision i made. Because i don't have time for this. I don't have time at all. Wish i never did. Might as well pack my bags and leave early.