Chronic Boredom

I’m back but probably just temporarily

Its been a while since I felt the need to do this, so here goes…

Take another drag of my cigarette and try to think
But nothing seems to make sense
I thought by now I’d be less naive, I’m on the brink and I’m tense.
Can’t seem to sleep tonight,
I won’t try it just won’t feel right…
I won’t call it love because we know that’s beyond us
A fake ideal I conjured in my dreams.
And while our time is short these minutes feel like an eternity,
They claw and tear me at the seams..
But it’s not love, I just feel empty,
And it’s a void you cannot fill.
For you it’s just a game, amusement
Because for you I’m just a cheap thrill.
Dont get me wrong, I’m just as guilty,
In fact I really don’t place the blame on you
Because, let’s face it, my thoughts are filthy
The feelings are what reappeared without cue.
Sitting here the world feels lonely
And small, and without love, and only
One more cigarette left to light the fire in my brain…
The one in my heart already went out,
But really, who am I to complain?

Pussies need to get their swag on layaway, cause they can’t afford that shit..

.

You can tell how old a neighborhood is by its trees. When they tower above all else, untouched through the passage of time, you just know. It’s a sort of aged authenticity I found alluring; a sense of security nestled between the trees. 

Love untended cannot survive.

It is doomed, damned to rot.

Unkempt desire flourishes wildly

Then, slowly, begins to ebb.

Acknowledging the absence of sun,

The routine incandescence missing,

It concedes, it recedes, rips free of the heart. 

Slowly. 

Painfully.

A shot of light lifts me from respite,

And as the excitement fades

So too does the light.

Was it ever there? Or was there only shade?

Once more, I am free to recline, to decline.

Slowly.

Painfully.

Until the shade soothes. 

And no longer hinders growth,

But breeds stagnant calm.

The kind of solace one only finds in shade.

Shielded from the harsh sun, that provoker of love.