What are the concrete, measurable things we want?
Am I distracting myself from real life?
Am I willing to handle it?
This is an assumption that I am this experience.
I can identify with it. This is demented.
There have to be benefits to continuing to do something you don’t like.
I’m like Dracula lost at sea with no hope of a new land.
How am I going to do it?
You have to do a little bit of both.
Squeeze it in.
I’ve come to the conclusion that darkness isn’t that impressive.
The square in my pocket was magick.
Lines were taken from February’s unpublished journals and rearranged into, what seems like, a coherent poem.