(inches shy)

My brain is a dream lost at sea.

And i just need to be typing something. writing. spilling out the last decent bits of myself so when i lay my head to rest this morning there won't be a goddamn thing to keep me staring at the ceiling. longing for the world outside. the time in her arms. the penance of letting loose the thin guise of control to wake up late for work fully clothed and wonder just what the fuck it was i was thinking...

Perhaps i just needed to remember gg.

Smash my head with whiskey and sing tunelessly into the night.

No scars this time, though. no bruises to speak of. just the lamenting of hungover days with nothing to show but aches and stains.

Fuck it.

I'm tired of thinking. tired of laying bright and sleepless in the fresh light of another day without question.

It could be worse, i know. i could break up and roll over the cold ignorance of bliss just like those poor patsies who live their lives without the slightest mark of regret.

Not that i have so much to feel sorry for. my most grandiose failures are far fucking enough behind me they hardly ever creep up at night. its just the simple inner turmoil that's keeping me alert enough to waste my time.

And i'm trying to make sense of myself with all these words words words fucking words that don't mean as much as fucking action which would all be well and fine to take up as an answer if i knew just what i could do to set my life back right up where it needs to be.

But right now i'm bleary. i'm broke and my heart fucking hurts.

I want to be happy.

I want to be in love.

And i don't want to wonder why.