on a lark

don't mind me just your neighborhood ghost dog passing through. i write whatever i feel like here though i don't consider myself a writer or a poet or much of anything. just lonely enough to need a place where i can spit into the void.

[coffinupsorrows]

well

here we are again, i guess. i guessed! and i guessed right.

the more i try, the longer i go at it, the more proof accumulates that points to one thing:

truly, utterly,

i'm not meant to be here.

there have never been any other words that have weaved themselves into my being quite like those ones. they are painstakingly sewn into my very essence and impossible to remove.

trust me, i've tried.

the stitches are barbed and each tug just creates more problems than they fix.

is there any hope for me?

i am not liked. i have no support. only myself and what is on the surface.

i never learned how break through it.

i definitely never learned how to cross into somebody else's pool.

there is something within me that is so fundamentally broken.

the part that is supposed to be able to form words instead fails me at every crucial moment.

it's like it was programmed to fail right when i need it. it truly is some cruel joke.

i'm going to sleep now, i guess.

when can i finally stop guessing?

[coffinupsorrows]

speak.