POETRY?

Like Hansel and Gretel, my words are breadcrumbs that lead to mortality.

WRITE IT TO GET RID OF IT

Step by step and the job is done.

There's a reason you were able to thrive in a vacuum for so long.

SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW

Someday, I will transcend people.

1ST WORLD PROBLEMS

So now that I voluntarily gave up leadership in my alliance (for an rpg app I play on my phone), the new leader is already arguing with players and threatening to kick people out, and it hasn't even been 24 hours. I regret doing this to the alliance and wish I could go back in time to undue it. I was in a bad mood last nite, hence the abrupt (and poor) decision. Oh, well. That's life--no reset button.

VICTORIAN PROSE & ROSES

I need to read Nathaniel Hawthorn forever.

THE TEARS WON'T WRITE THEMSELVES, HONEY

Standing at the precipice of pure potential or annihilation. A reckoning, if you will, is at hand.

THE MIRRORS TWIST AND DISTORT IN ENDLESS CAVERNS OF ANGUISH

My mother is more psychotic than I ever realized. I'm amazed I've lasted this long.

Perhaps, like Anne Rice, I can take the pain and write it into my characters and stories.

Perhaps.

WHAT HAVE YOU GOT TO LOSE?

Edgar Allen Poe inspired H.P. Lovecraft; H.P. Lovecraft inspired Stephen King.

"Perhaps someday, you will inspire someone." My therapist to me, yesterday. And yes, he's good. And no, I really don't care who is lying to me at this point, or even if they are lying or telling the truth. For the first time in 36 years I am starting to finally believe in myself, and my abilities. And you know what? It feels fucking good, man.

THE MOUNTAINS OF MADNESS

I'm slowly weaning myself off the medical marijuana. I shouldn't have to do this because it is legal in my state of Florida, and it helps me with my PTSD, my night terrors, and my TMJ. But, because of the stigma still associated with marijuana, and the fact that most employers require drug tests for new hires, I have decided I must suffer a little more in my life so that I may get a job. Am I pissed? Hell yeah, you bet I am. This whole ordeal of beating my alcohol addiction (sober for 165 days), and now having to beat my dependence on medical marijuana thanks to a high-level medical company essentially blacklisting me--let's just say I stared into the abyss this week, and it stared back into my soul.

What now? I need to keep moving; like trudging through a snow-capped mountain range in the middle of a blizzard, I have-to-keep-moving-or-I-will-collapse-into-the-soft-powdery-snow-and-never-wake-up-again. The cold can be comforting, but also deceiving. It numbs you--tricks you--into a false sense of safety. But in reality, it's slowly sucking the life-essence out of your exhausted body.

How do I keep moving? Write. It's my one true joy, both therapeutic and cathartic. Also, keep looking for work. This company that rejected me (they don't even have the basic decency to call me on the phone and tell me so) have lost the best coder they could ever hope to find. But that's ok. I will keep looking; I will keep climbing that snowy mountain even if it kills me in the process. That is life: an eternal struggle to fight death.

PLATH

Do you feel safe?

No.

AUTO PILOT

I've lost 18 pounds in 2018.

I've drank 10 days in 2018.

I've been sober for 5 months.

I am being discriminated against in my quest for work because I am on medical marijuana.

I've been prescribed Prozac and Buspirone so I can get off the marijuana.

I'm tired.