we, the demented

showered, cleansed, and just as tired as when i began... i suppose that i've come fuill circle. i was happy and content. but situations get fucked up. shit happens, and you come out weak and defeated. or you come out strong and screaming. either way, you've been scared shitless, and you're better because of it.

lost a few pawns but the bishops stayed strong through checkmate, and i'm lost in my own metaphors.

it's not easy being 22 in america where you just learn time after time what exactly you can live without.

so you end on suicidal tendencies and a lonely song of some bullshit unrequitted love that the latest post-pop groupie is singing, drunken on the the street.

you end reading your favorite book and scribbling something on the third page.

you end vomiting on the carpet that your grandmother bought you in ecuador because it was ecclectic.

you end staring at the lighter that burned your last cigarette, now embedded in your arm.

either way, you end with a lost thought of who you wanted to be when you were a child in america.

and either way, truth takes your pulse as you lie in peace or in vengeance about who you once were, or you find comfort in thinking that you've accomplished something nice and solid.