And just going.
Still awake with the thought I could leave this instant
And perfect my way of living by starting over again.
But I leave things unfinished
I am “half done” with letters and books
And I would rather walk the equivalent of walking “there”
By walking back where I started.
Craving and not working on change
I’m sentenced to a life titled “to be unfinished”
I’m too poor for therapy
But that’s ok because I can do math,and cheat at cards again.
I’ve done good with myself to be honest-ish.
Woodpeckers are beautiful birds but what can one expect.
Woodpeckers are so beautiful actually
Clot my veins because of those fucking birds
Rip my fingernails because holy shit.
I’m too poor for therapy.