truant in nature.

anxiety quells within the chest, a lump of mucus waiting, itching to be expelled in some horrid fashion. another night. another sleep and waking dream to hate or dread. a cold night with wind howling. dragging up snow and sand. tackling the house, and that object shudders. i along with it waiting, itching- wishing for a drug, up or down, pacing back and forth. i hold it all in, in some weird agony. ii try to ignore. i really do. try to ignore. fuck. it's scratching at me, begging to be let in. or out. dual and vague, a paranoid thought, feeling, whatever. it's here. it's coming. it's going. fuck, whatever. every tick the house makes lasts an hour. swallows me up. visions i cannot name, ineffable, redundant and ancient. no. primal, angry disturbed. shambling night fuck. it's myself in my own hubris, ignorance, knowledge and shame. pounding in my skull. wailing on the door like a tiny brute, screwing his way into the aching wood of mind. the fuck do i do? the fuck did i do? how do i go about fixing it? or do i just ignore the whole fucking it-thing? how can i. aching, aching, aching.

what does this hold what am i holding?

this is out on the flat, west texas. i look up and feel weightless, endless, endless everything. all the continuous life, death, and dragging on. i need to do something so i put pen to paper, fingers to keyboard and i write on. i can't describe the simplicity out here, it's not good it's not bad, it's just existing. for no reason but god people struggle on, my own family blinding themselves. drama i thought i was done with after i got kicked out of job corps filled our lives the past two months. I came looking for family, and now on leaving i feel even further away from that sense or want or need of that silly idea. or have i realized i should make my own family? i don't know anymore. i just see endless, endless flat: a plateau of mediocrity. i've loved the people i've met, my family, the idea speaks comfort but i was only able to find a force more self-destructive than my own self. so what do i do now? now that i've left that flatness? like i've left. i'm still here in texas, dallas, but somehow we're not staying. one more day i tell myself in this child's bed... i guess i'll find out sooner or later.

i don't feel what i know
what do i do now?
lost in this melting snow

i was apparently given something.
never had never lost it
can't sink a missing ship.

as roads lay before me:
can't we take both?
mind aches with indecision.

not a blog essentially

what does this hold for me? this life this site this "blog"? do i spew information about the world or of my own? suffer not dear reader, it's the fuck ever i want. i type here, tired, half drunk and aching. hello world.