Thoughts that spill tears

I haven’t been to sleep in 24 hours
And I can feel the sluggish nature of my thoughts, but I think I’d be OK if I never slept again. Because when I sleep I dream and I remember my dreams. I’m aware in them. And often I’m with someone who loves me. It’s not Morgan anymore. I don’t know who they are. I just know that they wait for me beyond the veil of sleep. They accept and love me for all of me, my flaws, everything that I am. And that’s great but I leave them. I wake and I’m torn away from them over and over. I don’t know how long I can endure that. So not sleeping seems the better course, but I feel like I could be betraying them by staying away. What if they are as real as I am and they wait for me? What if we’re both just searching and this is what we’ve found. It’s both insane and sad when I write it out, but that’s who I am right now. A sad, lonely writer, dreaming of something he had, that it seems he’ll never have again. Madness seams a refuge in that case.

afternoon’s less hopeful than 3 am

been broken
been battered
but I keep going
keep going
…keep going
but going to what?
what future?
no one to walk this dark road with
nothing waiting for me at the end but a grave and a smile
living for the moment but the moment is faded
nothing holding me here
nothing to tether
my jobs been done, my purpose served
now just an endless litany of lonely days and nights
hustling to fill up the time
until my too healthy body fails me
they say the end is near
but is it ever near enough
negotiated my sentence and got a reprieve
bought and sold but little left to make it worth the time
come nearer to me, oh beautiful death!
kiss me, love me, you’re my last chance.


The last time I felt as full of nothing was in the dark times after I lost Sara. I don’t know where or why I feel this way. I don’t understand it.

I worry that I’m losing myself again. That this sojourn into open, honest emotion is somehow coming to a close.
I worry that I will find who I’m looking for. That I’ll be disappointed when I do.

I worry that I’ll fight for someone and do us both a disservice.

I worry that I’m sacrificing pieces of myself to write. That I take more validation from people liking my work than I do in the work itself.

I worry that if I do find someone to share my life with, I’ll fuck it up.

I worry that my obvious deficiencies are why, despite looking and trying, I’m still alone.

I worry that Sara was my one chance and by not going with her that night, I failed her. I failed us. And my not finding any lasting relationship is my just punishment for my inaction.

I worry about how I’m perceived and am hurt when people see me as other than I intend.

I worry that my need for control is becoming destructive.

I worry that my desire for chaos is a sign of a lack of empathy.

I worry about my lack of guilt.

I worry that I’m drifting away from a real friend.

I worry about all of this and more.
I’m not constant in my worry, I let my subconscious handle most of it. But it’s all there, swirling in the background, even if I don’t act like it. It sits, leaden in my brain.

It’s why I occasionally wake, heart racing from a panic attack. Deep unconscious being one of the few times I’m out of control. Some of this, I just don’t have the strength to carry. And I’m approaching a time when something will either break or some of it will fall away. And I worry what I’ll lose this time.

The roads we travel

An unbusy street side by side with a busy one forgotten. Its way sits unused; lined with shops that look out onto it but never use it.

Abandoned by its makers it sees the brother he was seperated from, wild and free. They zoom along his siblings wide lanes, raucous laughter and people spilling out onto his sidewalks.

His life whirs on stagnant day by day. Unnoticed and uncared for he waits. Waits to be useful, to be loved.

The girl skips down the hidden street in the rain. It’s not as fast or as well traveled as its brethren but it is quiet and she can see into the secret backs of the shops. The people in the secret shops down the hidden street watch over and wave to the girl. She loves this hidden street, so short but so full of life. It is the friend she never looked for. The love she’ll always cherish.