hello my name is ryan.
i am twenty-six.
frequently sick.
and the material world
of my posessions
is always in a clutter.
i am bad with people.
worse with money.
my personal hygiene
is sometimes
sub-par.
i am terribly lazy.
not exceedilngy smart.
i drink a little more each week.
most times i dream
that i am something big.
most times i know
that this is all there is.
(a bottle of booze
and an apartment i can't afford
all to myself.)
but when i write
i feel better.
when i write i sober up.
it doesn't even matter
what i say.
nothing even matters.
i know i am still far
from rock bottom.
i'm still above average.
still in good shape.
(still a good job.
still with good friends.)
but i know
that if it comes down to it,
down to some
blob of neurosis
inside a pale
skeleton.
i will still know
what it will take
to make me fly.
4:42 p.m. - 2007-02-21
Recent entries:
Awake in My Tiny Cage - 2014-11-03
God. - 2014-10-27
I remember me. - 2014-10-17
The Paper - 2014-10-13
A Post About Not Doing Anything - 2014-10-12
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