Mental

Most of my misery
Stems from the idea
That another human being
Can somehow fix
What is happening
In my head.
When I know they can't.
Fact is, that belief
Makes it worse.
Alcohol doesn't fix it, either.
Writing about it
Doesn't fix it, either.
Nothing fucking fixes me
The end.

39

It's past 4am
On a night where I swore
I'd get at least
6 hours
But I've only got
5 hours left
And I'm still
Googling
Googling
Googling
Names and videos
How-to's
Old Myspace pages
Obits and old addresses
Other people's reviews
Of hikes, shops, dives
In other states
I'm too aware
Of how stationary I've become
Also, it's almost 5am now
So that's 4.
4 hours left and then I'm having
Mimosas for breakfast.
Happy birthday, me.
Last year of your 30s.
Here's hoping it's your last
Stationary year.