This Isn't A Poem Or A Lyric

No, this is my life. The real mess.

It's night time, and it's getting close to existential crisis mode for yours truly. I have a friend who's probably better than anyone I know at pushing everything off their chest and writing it for the world to see.
                         That's bravery.

I, instead, have a blog (which I continually update) which features me hiding behind clever phrases and imaginative lines while I overlook the one underlying thing.
The problem is me.

So I'm taking a stab at bravery. Yes, I walk these streets wondering how fickle every person I meet is. What is their time frame on friendship. Does theirs last for a lifetime, a few years, months, weeks, days, until the moment I say, "I'll see ya later" and then I'm off their mind until our next encounter? I'm not sure.
Why do I think these things?
Is it because I can see the truth behind the human heart? Or is it because when I was young(er) and naive(er?) this is how I treated people?
I'm betting on the latter. "Out of sight, out of mind" is a sword brandished at my throat waiting for my next mistake.


If you were here, I'd look you right in the eye before I dropped this key utterance: I'm scared.

You heard it here first folks. I'm terrified.
I have problems that haunt my past, and continue to snowball up into my future. I have no idea how long it'll take me to escape their shadows, let alone their outreached hand of despair.
Even as I write these words I'm terrified. Every single truth is paired with a ring of doubt. What can I do once the truth is outside of my body?
No longer am I the judge of myself, but merely a bystander in the interpretation of myself.
I am on your doorstep looking as forlorn as always.


I don't know what this is.
I guess it's staging my own intervention. Maybe I'll catch this before it becomes my downfall.
Maybe you'll save me.

I don't know

So as I break down tonight. Just be happy it's me and not you.
Revive me in the morning.