i used to write.
and then i didnt.
and then i did again.
and then i didnt.


i write into the holes inside, the ones that are deep and dark and scary.
but the void makes me silent. the rapid sucking keeps me busy grasping
at time, at money, at tasks
until i am looking again at a hole. a dissolving marriage, a painful love,
a betrayal. isolation.

so here i am again.
nowhere to turn but within
again.
the rapid sucking can no longer distract me
from the darkness

i am so like all the others. i am a match for the mistakes of the world, the stupidity, the lies,
the greed, selfishness, shortsightedness.
i am the wrong turns, the rape, the murder, the madness.
this part of my life is the slow realization that i am not meant for bliss or success or happiness or true love.
no one is.
we are all burning and drowning and hurting. ourselves, each other.


hello deep hole. we are together again.
im scared every time.