I hate myself some days.
Because I feel so ordinary.
Wishing I was anything that could fly.



Because I’d be there in a second.
Instead of dreaming on this thin stroke of red paint.



I’m dangling by a string of thread.
Climbing to the needle I started to drop from.



This silver light at the end of nothing.



I wish I could draw myself sober.
But all I see is the world fucked up in these eyes.




&.




I sat at the red table for a while studying myself in the tiny mirror.
As if it was that easy to draw the thing you hate looking at everyday.



Everything was designed so imperfectly.
& The frail skin was letting down everything.



I broke more than the mirror that day.



The continual day of tearing myself apart and walking through life feeling so numb never felt so familiar.



As the thread broke so perfectly while I was inches away from the top.
I never fell so hard.




&.





I hate myself some days looking at everything I did.
Thinking back on things I should have said.



Wishing on past ideas and future questions.


Dreaming on the silver light of nothing.





&.




Picking myself up. Flying so beautifully out of a hole I always seem to dig myself in.



I drew myself sober.
Feeling anything but ordinary.



Looking straight into the present.


















& I swear that day I saw everything.

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