L
lake
Guest
It’s like that itch, the kind if you scratch, it gets worse and worse, finally you give in and start to scratch, eventually all there is a red bloody spot, you did not mean for it to get to that point, it just did. So what’s left, my life is a bloody fucking scratch and I keep telling myself that I am going to draw that line in the sand but it ends up being tomorrow, tomorrow. No money, everything is fucked up, really it’s amazing that I have managed to keep things afloat this long, amazing. What do you do when things crumble, some are able to pick up, strike out and regroup, me, hell I start to snowball. The kind that starts off small at the top of the hill and starts to roll downward until it’s a giant avalanche wiping out what could of or should of ending in self-pity, feeling worthless, basically wanting to crawl under the rock and escape. Why me, what did I do to deserve this fucking curse. They say choices, make wise decisions, I look back and I am the poster boy for bad decisions. And man does that sting. So here I am feeling sorry for myself, like so many times before, tick, tick, tick, tick, the world keeps spinning and I’m missing out. What is it like to really laugh anymore, to wake up and feel like living, it’s been so long and clouded that I wonder if it’s even possible anymore to somehow pull a miracle off. Tried it all, God, women, dog, you name it. None of them even, with the exception of the dog, even registered on the rector scale. I wish I could feel God, I do, some say they feel him, he grants peace and a laissez-faire what will come will come tranquility to them, why not me, what the **** did I do that I am not able. I dearly want that, I truly do, but the motherfucker won’t shine a ray down on my sorry soul. They call that faith, the belief in an untenable belief, why can I not have faith. I am at the point where I really have no options, don’t get me wrong this is no suicide letter; I’m too chicken **** to pull the trigger. Besides the prospect of hell and eternity is dismal at best, I would like to postpone the inevitable as long as possible. The whole thing is a bloody scab, one big itch that is now a bloody fucking scab, and the infection is setting in and unless somehow, someway, a miracle you could say I am not going to make it, impossible. I once daydreamed, had aspirations, maybe an actor, maybe a or that. Famous writer, but the world has its own mind and once the tide turns you can’t stop nature. It always wins. So why do I sit and write this fucking letter, in case I can’t pull it out and it’s not looking good, maybe you all can understand a little bit of why thing happen like they do. Most likely if you are reading this I am room temp. It’s true though the decision you make do form your future. There is a line from Zeppelin “Stairway to Heaven,” it goes “there are two paths you can go back but there is still time to change the road you’re on.” I know I can’t continue on the path I’m on much longer it’s a slow form of suicide and that is not what I want. So the big question, drumroll, is he going to pull his head out and make it. Self-destruction is a form of thinking, playing the victim, you get used to it until if becomes the norm. What sad is I am able to see the train, hear the train, running dead at me I just can’t get off the tracks even though it’s just one step away. If I am to make it I need some divine intervention, somehow I need a little help me, that a boy from whoever or whatever. So please keep me in your thoughts whoever you are. Please I beg you to keep me in your thoughts.
