this is a week of mild weather, I am hopeful of spirits being boosted because spring and then summer are around the corner. January is a dead month, and I feel liker perhaps since Ive always had a negative attitude about it, it will be a month filled with negativity.
he fills me with promises and manages to keep them all. I chant " I am not worthy" and walk with my head down, and I am consistently surprised at his demeanor in regards to mine. he is like a bloodhound, he is a sport dog, always there, while I am just a flighty bird. Oftentimes I play dead and allow him to take my gently in his mouth, as to not crush my bones, and I'll rest in one spot, but only for a minute before I fly away. I am cunning and he takes it as my wit, I am dark and he makes me smile so that you can see the blood stains of the last person i sucked out.
I am wrapped in my mist, or I try to be. REally its just a pathetically rented smoke machine but I ned it for undercover protection. I often feel like people are following me. I carry around many mental disorders and their definitions loom behind me, as do the shadows of sylvia plath and virgina woolf. I am tired of holding up, and really nothing bad is happening,
I am making an approximation, I should really begin to write fiction. It seems to better withstand my interest than my charming life that so many people say is more interesting than theirs. They are wrong, I start with a blank slate and I end with a blank page.