Wondering if my soulmate is there
and if there is such a fucking thing

I miss...

Boston. Guava pastries from South Beach. Midnight cannolis. Chicken bacon ranch pizza. Kiss my ring. Running by the water. Being sung to sleep. Wine and cheese in the park. Bakers beach. Natty ice on the rocks of Reddington shores. Having my arm pulled off by a dog in Central Park. Spumoni. Sweet and sour in the snow. Harpoon growlers. Freezing my ass off in the snow. Old Italian ladies screaming our their windows. Having no worries or cares...

sinking

Not quite sure what goes through me, or why somethings make little sense. The little draining moments in this world may be the ones that keep me on my toes and annihilate my senses simultaneously. For every 2 steps ahead I take 3 behind, and wonder how my choices in this world have lead me here. I struggle with a mindset full of bad luck verses self infliction, and overall I know there is no room for pity. Besides, I'm not so sure I believe in luck. It is what it is, and seems to change very little. I see the people around me and how their choices have formed their lives. Some good, some bad, some indifferent. I"m tired of drifting, in and out up and down, merely hanging on by tiny threads. I have something inside me that I don't feel most people understand, and the ones that do are iniquitous. I suppose we all have something in there, something that goes through us. Maybe some choose to hold it and some let go. I keep looking ahead because I truly believe in the light at the end of the tunnel.

Fuck Monday

Reminding myself on a daily basis
that all things must expire at some point
Learning to love with the knowledge that there is
no promise of another day
another hour another minute..
Giving up all expectations and letting life live
and be, until it changes once more
the only true guarantee

Don't step on the Momeraths

Tides of uncertainty and confusion are the only things that make sense
All I want is to drive once more through lonely little cat head creek
so far away I can no longer see the trail that's been swept away
by Alice's little talking broom
I'm at peace with myself
and the walls that guide me out of this place
Im ok with the man and the one who stands outside whistling my name
At moments I can see the kaleidoscope turning into something new and
beautiful
At moments I think god is real
But how can anything so wonderful dip their finger into complete disaster
There is no such thing as perfection