maybe it's going to bed at 3 am too much recently. it's far too quiet at 3 am. when the only noise is my own thoughts, and i can't drown them out with music, things look pretty grim. i've tried good intentions, mindless occupation, and adjectives that don't exist; nothing helps. if help can only come from outside, and i want nothing to do with what's outside, where does that leave me? somewhere in a stalemate, a condition i've become used to. continuing to run into the walls like a rat encased in fiberglass, i'm experiencing the beginnings of aggravation, but i'm too tired for that to go far.

am i ok? what a question. define "am". this isn't about what was, yet i can continue to look to the past to assign blame and forage for guilt. at this point, i don't know if i want to see what will be. or can be, at least.

one day my dreams just may die for lack of hope, lack of air to breathe. some days i scream to myself that that's not good; other days i just can't tell. the time passes, and i muddle through, all the while chiding myself for it.

the notions of "could be" and "should be" refuse to go away, even under duress.

after awhile, things stop making sense, and sleep is the only loyal friend.

a brief and terribly undescriptive return - 10.28.04
- - 09.17.04
- - 08.16.04
- - 08.13.04
- - 07.30.04