010823
the night lingers the same
I forgot who I was, for a long minute—in a manic state, getting too cocky for the life predicaments in my wake. Words from those I loved dearly cut me deeper than could ever be seen; believing I am nothing more than a whore after being treated as such.
Men have acted in such a way for me, that they are the gateway drug that lead to my downward spiral into a life of vice. I must suffocate the cause of my distress and self pitying ways, I carry enough pain that I mustn’t pick up the pains others project onto me.
What a silly game I have played, barely escaping with my life; running off with a hardened character that movies try to write right. Opportunity fleeting, which is apart of my curse, though my gift makes opportunity keep pressing up against my asshole.
I must follow my dreams, not a trail of cum—I have been waiting for this, far too long to allow my lust to consume me any further. My heart cracks, peels away, at the thought of all those who were my primary, sometimes only, support—that discouraged me from striving for every glorious skill that brought stars to my eyes.
I don’t want much, until I’m not allowed to do much. No material could fulfill me completely, only a passion to keep myself occupied in seems to ruffle my feathers into an active direction.
You know? There is a lot wrong with me, but not in the ways made out of me. Those that demeaned me are the ones who are wrong. I will be OK, another morning will come, mornings where I slept adequately—many are to come.
It does not matter that I have been up all night. The day is mine, I will make it beautiful for those near to me whom I love dearly. Nothing will get in the way of that, not sleep deprivation, and especially not my addiction to soulless men.
But oh, how my torturous male engagements have made me such a unique writer and artist… could I have been everything I am now without all the pain they have brought me?