It keeps spreading like a plague and the medicine is failing in its job. I need to be put to sleep. Indoors away from prying eyes I dwell consuming gallons of caffeine and inhaling pounds of marijuana typing my life away dreaming about anything but now. There is an underlying tone of mixed up points bleeding into one but these scars will not stay hidden and these flaws will not quite growing. Just go away. If I turn a cheek in your direction act as if there’s nothing there. Pretend as I do and look away when the sight cannot be ignored. Why can’t I be as beautiful as them? Wipe it clean.
November 5, 1999