artinsomnia

ive met the edge of the knife, pinned beneath fork. little, shiny, bean body, side dish with a meal.


so like, im in a wierd fucking place. im drinking everyday, smoking everyday. im doing pretty good in school. im moving up north in 4 months. things are coming together. but the downfall of many men, are the women in his life. she's losing it, or i am. maybe i overthink. maybe i should get out of it while i can before one of us gets hurt. maybe its the stress of finals thats gotten to us, we dont talk like we did, we dont connect. just two limp bodies moving from place to place. she doesnt want me for more. but if i ran off to fuck another id surely hear about it.



art is art is art. still making art. im in another show. a small one. but still a show none the less.

everyday i wonder if im doing the right thing. and what the right thing is. and if im ever going to stop being a pessimistic asshole because my behavior, i feel is so deeply ingrained you could see the grooves a mile away. sometimes i wish i could not think. and not need anything and not need money, and not need smokes, and not need clothes, and not need a body and not need love and not need sex and not need friends. sometimes i wish i would lose my mind. sometimes i wish i could say what ever i wanted anytime.














fuck it.