#sethgodofchaos

7/11/17

I have been cursed by Chaos. My was heart bitter and trapped, but almost content like an innocent prisoner, jailed 20 years set free to find your heart is also caged.

The only ecstasy felt now is when thoughts touch paper. I look back, remember recent weekends and recent violations and compare how little I’ve written to feel better about what happened That night and how much I have to write still tonight to quiet you from my mind for a chance of sleep.

Is it love? Feeling similar to a black void, probably not. Is it self propaganda? Even the propagated fade with time. Does that make this a curse?

My heart determined to constantly break itself before, during, and after for the slightest chance at a moment with you for the most minuscule glimpse into your interior.

In there I know I’ll find poetry, pain of a different story and name and be energized by the understanding and acceptance that which can be found amongst us.

But do I have to write this story? I’ve already read this one before, One likes another The another isn’t interested it’s awkward, they part ways. Does it always have to end that way?