Speed... preface

i wrote this the day after the first night i tried dexies. medicinal speed. hate me for it like i know so many will but at least its the truth. sitting on one of my closest friends balconies with sunglasses on and no shirt, a fresh tattoo (also wearing sunglasses) stinging like crazy underneath my shirt i had wrapped around it, in the sun at about 7 in the morning after one of the best nights out id had in a long time. I am not making a habit of this. this is not me. i know it already. -

Poetry doesn't feel like poetry when I'm not holding a pen but i try again to explain the state of my affairs.

A blinking light in the corner of a room offers so many comfort but i just want a pen..

Were all going down in our own way. It all ends the same... So why the fuck am i searching for meaning in something that ill leave behind tomorrow?

...And ill do it again, trying in vein to give meaning to another fucking day, when i find myself sitting in this chair, typing words on a screen that gives no comfort to me with no meaning.