Fame is the old mans game

Look back upon yourself

What have you done?

Who are you?

How do you compare to the rest?

Do shining lights thrust upon you?

Do people scream your name?

Greatness is not you

Am I happy?

What is this innate feeling

How do I decide What path I choose

Every path makes more and more sense

But every path makes

Less sense

I do not know what to think

Matter

Who decides what matters

And what doesn’t

Who’s the God

Whos the judgment

Who’s

the one

What matters in this life that didn’t matter in the last

I wanna go to Paris

Hemingway went to paris

I want to do that

But I can’t

The picturesque views

The drinking

The writing

The absurd notion that if I go to Paris It will make me a better writer

It won’t probably

But I still want to go

It seems fun

Maybe I will be a better writer

But I’ll never know.

Drink in the dark

There’s a whiskey

I don’t know what it’s called

It’s dark

They’re all dark

he ambiance of the room

Heads my soul

Resonates with me

‘Till there’s nothin left

Behind the bar

Drink aftare drink, spirit

Breathe Me

The breath is all that holds

Two minute intervals

That’s it.

The body and mind connected
As one

Synapsis and agreements on body movements

Two minutes away now

Start again

Again, Again

A new eternity with each passing breathe

Mind and body connect

Devil never stood a chance

Strength

You’re stronger than you know

Rise as you will

Fall as it will happen

All that matters

is that you rise again

Take the path

of most resistance

And break through

Glass

Shiny moving objects

Reflective in there own eyes

What do they see?
What do they see?

Myself in a mirror

What have I become

Who is the monster?

Head down, day

Head up. night

Who is the monster

Go away
Go away

Glass shows who we really are?

Can I be that

Who do I want to be?

Sex

Alone agian

In a world of sex crazed lunatics

I don’t see the use

In my room

No one home

Go out?

Stay in?

Blondes and burettes

Waiting for me

No, abs and sun tans

Nightlife

Parties, sex, drugs

I want to be a part of it

In this bland world there are sex crazed maniacs

Why not me?

The night fades

I am alone

Floor

Blackout

Breakdown

Soft carpet on my face

I can’t feel a thing

Throw up my guts

Lay there

Lay there

Get back up

What will it be today

Productive or lazy? Who really cares

What good is it being either?

Hours pass

Day to night, night to day

Tomorrow

The next, and the next, and the next

Soft carpet, I cannot feel you