American Novocain

It's like sitting alone by a fire.

Blowing smoke in my face.

I can't shake it.

Haunted.

Every single day.

I've prayed for a clear mind.

Just something to distract me.

Nothing works.

I'm still as helpless as I've always been.

Existential Dread they call it.

Like when you walk into your mom filling the house with the favorite movie music your ex used to torture you with...

Never have I ever wanted to harm something more.

It's not that I'm mad at others or their choices, I'm just helplessly angry at the blues that never let up on me.

My first time out of the house all week, to complete one simple task turns into having to drive through cities filled with her smell, her words, and our memories.

I'm so tired.

I'm so angry.

I can't eat.

I can't sleep.

I can't distract myself.

I can't do this anymore.

Day

after

Day

after

Day

I'm so tired of seeing how happy she is.

I'm so tired of holding this weight up.

I'm turning into something unfortunately too familiar.

I'm sick of fighting tears in trivial places.

I'm sick of the daily fight to not shoot up.

--

Sheleftyouforanotherman

thinkabouthat

sheliedtoyou

shellneverlookback

shedoesntcare

--

I'm supposed to turn 20 tomorrow.

I'm not sure how I would feel about it.

What the fuck have I accomplished?

I'm standing at square one again with a shitload of arbitrary life experience, and I'm sick of being dragged into more of it.

That's why I'm supposed to turn 20 tomorrow; because I'll see if it actually happens.