Wednesday, November 2, 2011

It's Always At Home

i wish i could be one of those people who get even and not angry, but i'm the type of person who stops believing when things get rocky.  i wish i could stop it, but i'm just not, i'm weak.  it's feasible that after i've seasoned the loss i can pass it off as not much more than small sadness that lingered because i was already broke so i was bound to break.  and you were just a single straw, a light portion of whats come before, stuff that was scarier and worse, probably why i sold my soul when you happened upon my famished aching self.  i was poorly searching for a savior, a coach - what you did is cursed.  i lived in the moment, then died in the dream.  and they were all just scenes that you orchestrated to save you from the reality of your situation.  so much faking. and lies to yourself that put you through hell, those around you as well.  scapegoats you buy and then sell.  i hope you dwell over all that you dispel, so it's never really passed up, it's always at home.


  1. What is this? like free verse poetry?

  2. honestly, i don't even know, i think i've called it that before though, definitely.


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