There is an empty hole made in the ground
where tears fall in a futile effort to fill it
and bring me into existence
one drop at a time.
But it is useless, the hole screams.
the blueprints have long been forgotten,
it has disintegrated in the natural order of things,
something to do with biodegradability,
and the memories aren't there any more.
what's the use of futile tears?
they have no reason,
if anyone asks.
they just prove that i am descending into madness,
one step at a time.
the staircase might be long and winding,
and a black hole gapes at the bottom,
where steps might not exist.
But I'm getting there.

As normal, it is something like 5.03 in the morning and i struggle to string words along. Not because I have nothing to say ( I don't.) but because I am drunk enough to prove the myth about not able to write straight when inebriated true. Why am I writing? Because people do strange thing when they are drunk.
 I just saw a number to things I had written/commented on on facebook i have absolutely no recollection. And I am listening to portishead. One of my great discoveries of 2010.
 I want a life. I have one, but I want a consistent one. One of Highs, which sustain, and give you memories like a bruise. Even after it melts away you always remember that it had been there, and exactly where too. I am sick and tired of days when my vision is so dark it seems like i am blind. then there are days its all so clear, my vision, that it is painful. I want those clear days. I realize the clear days happen when i am really drunk the night before. This is scary. What it means i mean. I want to have stuff that excites me. like it did before.
 Wow. this is the most juvenile post I have written in a LONG TIME. this is like a blast from the past. back to the future.  Wow. I am drunk. I will have a head ache tomorrow. Wow.