Been filled with self-pity and self-loathing in equal measure of late, which is a rather shit way to feel. Thinking too much about the women i’ve known, the ones i’ve loved, and how, really, i loved all of them, for a minute, for an instant, for a year, for a hug or a kiss. Every single one of you, you perfect creatures, has something worth dying or living for. I can’t stay focused on any of you for long, though, because the new love is just over your shoulder, and so i bound and fall, collapse, implode, my heart erodes and combusts, my dissipated veins pumping black and calcifying tar.
I meant to write much more here, but i’m boring myself. Wondering if i’m an asshole or just perpetually confused, lost, and alone. I think i’m feeling lonely is the real thing. Not a pleasant feeling. A friend of mine recently told me that i have a hole in my life, which seems, you know, rude, but i appreciate her honesty.
Besides, it’s probably good to hate yourself every now and again, even when you don’t really have a good reason, but only an inclination.
Spent all last week coughing up disgusting bits of something lodged inside my lungs or esophagus, and now i smoke too many cigarettes. Again.
No sleep. No reason to beat. But i go, walking. The desert’s everywhere and i dreamt of her all day.