Truth

sense of depth

i used to be searching. always searching, searching, searching. no stone left unturned, no crappy poetry left unwritten. i wrote like i thought, in hypomanic splurges of afterbirth glory. always left holding the bag, unfortunately. the wisdom of self expression…
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a moment

throwing fists in the mist, dropping hammers and stammers, as if the world really behaves in this manner. stand and deliver. i consider the shivers a sign of respect. i recount and recollect the suspected collective silence a matter of…
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The base.

to be honest, i don’t give a damn what you believe. it really does not affect my life what belief structures keep you afloat, keep you moving. it really doesn’t matter what keeps you alive. having mental variation merely requires…
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Not illness.

To be perfectly honest, I’m not completely sure of what I consider the artist formerly known as “mental illness” to be. It’s a bit of an art form, to move forward in life with a variable quality defining the very…
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