the wait of self-doubt, M.P.P.
saw a new video today from a favorite musician — his artistic response to the world at this moment. oh, how i wish i felt inspiration from this. instead i feel further from where I've been going in my heart and brains. i feel further now than anytime since the original pains. and, as i sit here, i haven't drank in four days. i had ideas for my own response and wrote most of them down. even started recording a new record. but i'm weary from more of nothing. the weight of failure. the wait of self-doubt. the never ending proof that I am not wrong. that i do quit. that I have gone, time and time again, away from my friends. away from whatever. and now, as i contemplate finally settling in to my fate as a nothing, i yearn for at least a mountain to gaze upon. something to refresh the man in me, even if my spirit and career prospects remain untouched. i feel like i can't stay because nobody would miss me if i left. but that has always been the case with me. i'm a periphery. i'm an afterthought. fun at the time, maybe, but a great deal of not too much. i cannot blame them. my art is hollow because it falls upon deaf ears. i think about terrible things for most of the day, but without the heart to try it. i would not know bravery if i saw it. i am exhausted. i am broke. i am nowhere, nowhere, nowhere.