Originally posted on Sunday, May 25, 2008 on myspace.com
The light bulb went out in my room the other day.
I can’t specify which day because…
It went out with out warning.
Usually light bulbs have their final flash of brilliance before they go out, but this one didn’t.
It just ceased to function one day.
Never caring whether or not it was hurting me in the process.
I won’t hold a grudge.
The only question now is…
Do I replace this light bulb?
Or do I leave it where it is, and make do without light?
Gloriously preserved under its lamp shade.
Originally posted on Wednesday, May 21, 2008 on myspace.com
I am creative, I am original.
I speak in a purely conceited manner.
Trying once again to boost my self-esteem.
Give myself some confidence.
Make myself heard.
There are so many things on my mind.
So many ideas.
But, without something to express them with, they float freely in the open space that is my thought.
So concealed, they drift like plankton in the sea, unnoticed.
So I write, with no intent to make a real point.
I write, to ease my stream of consciousness, and perhaps get some sleep.
But I’m not the first to do this.
I am not creative, I am unoriginal.
Originally posted on Tuesday, May 20, 2008 on myspace.com
If you were to look closely at my floor, bed, shoes, clothing, anything really; you would see the remnants of toothpaste.
Anywhere I’ve ever walked when brushing my teeth, I have spilled toothpaste.
It’s white stain gives my clothing, and my house character.
It’s my one little mark that I leave.
Like a dog peeing where it is.
In a sense, I’m a slob when I am hygienic.
I obsess over brushing my teeth too much.
I guess sometimes you obsess over the things you can control in your life.
When I die alone, the one piece of me that will remain will be my toothpaste stains.
Forever bleachy white.
Originally posted on Monday, May 19, 2008 on myspace.com
The burn of disappointment on my face, hands, legs.
My stomach is relatively untouched though.
Relatively cancer free.
Free of the carcinogenic sting of unaccomplished dreams.
Dreams that I longed for, but instead of achieving them, I got stuck with this sick, sad, cancerous rash that is the burn of defeat.
The burn of what could have been.
I’ll have to treat this for years.
I’ll have to use medically prescribed creams to remove this mark of defeat.
But, at least I’ve got my stomach.
My sweet, pearly white, defeat-free stomach.