Sigh

 I just want to be loved like how I love.  -H September 18, 2020

Harmonic heartstrings cluster together Symphonic tragedies for the score. A composition of my woes  Sacrificing the content devour to those I say I love.  - H September 17, 2020

Your claws sink, And your fingers paint. Venom encased with ginger patience.  Ash covered roses, Soot and thorns leaving me altered The fragrance of her petals consider me blessed.  And your curses lullaby me to sleep. - H September 16, 2020

 How sad. I know I am full of potential  I can feel the possibilities embedded deep within my bones Neurons firing with ambition. And yet, Here I am Absolutely incapacitated by loneliness. -H September 12, 2020

  I am deflated. Flat.  Dead.  Desolate.  Exhausted.  Non-existent.   No longer wanting to carry on. I am so sick of this happening  I am so over it. I am tortured by repetitiveness, By the cold embrace of solitude. I am acknowledging now  this may be my fate.  -H  September 12, 2020

An old passage, written when I was alone in a new state. Times can feel so infinite  Looking at the sunset through naked eyes,  a first for a clouded mind. Funny how it all works, how the things that were once aversions are now attractions. Did I change? Or is my mind really that warped?  Like a desert flower they could say, beauty to the beholder and topical adoration,  but barely there, surviving on just the bare minimum.  Only fools see themselves as flowers.  ---  Naked eyes, the sun has set and now greets naked skin,  barren,  Desert air still hot in the absence of light Giving me the only warm hug I have found in this fucked up land; A modern, overplayed tragedy.   It's a pathetic excuse to give as contact Almost as sad as the excuses we make up for you. Cry, cry baby boy, You know I don't have the tears.  --- They say this land was supposed to be my savior But I thought Jesus was the messiah? So why we gotta find more ways to...

An old passage written awhile back, refound today. We all have our little addictions, Our little nightmares. Clutching onto the bottle harder than I ever did a lover, starving myself as a form of self-love; the only excuse I can make because I'm clouded in hate. We all have bad habits to kick. Mistresses of bad habits we secretly love,  because we believe they love us more than anyone else ever could. The only constants in our lives that never could walk out.  -H, Somewhere between 2018-2019