With none.

Rolling rolling rolling and I thought this would help I truly thought this would help.
It didn’t. The darkness is still there and the lines on my face cutdeeper, the cuts in my heart bleed water there is nothing left.

Again, I’m wrong.

There is something, somewhere, for me. Some way to feel useful, valued, worth all that I fought so fucking hard for – because baby, this sure as fuck ain’t it.

This sure as fuck ain’t it.

There’s something inside of me that has lost the music, lost the dance, the laughter and truth of life and I fall again, further, further than years past.

I knew how to dig myself out then.

I just wrote. Wrote of all the pain and beauty, the fire and freezing cold, the life and death that was every fucking day of my life from the moment I rolled into Austin. The life I lived before, the feeling that I was fucking HELPING one, a few, some to move forward, to not be like I was, to dream, follow. It’s not all about them, it can’t be. I’ve been searching for this my entire lonely life, and I mark the notches on my hatbands. They all mean that this, that meant something.

And I remember the love. Most importantly, the love. Love lost, and love that remains. Gods. Either I was a fool, or she was smart. Whate vefr needed to happen did, and I left Tea behind. That is what was necessary, but gods, I wish it wasnlt now.

As I struggle to write my memoir, I ask myself who I was – and who am I now?

How fortunate the man with none.


I think that that was when was in my deepest truth- – just the road, Bean, a shitty van ane forever in front of me.


At least that’s what I thought at the time.

Cut these lines in my heart away, cut me from me me from you me from all I have believed in and just…. Just tell me I was dreaming.
That there was no rason to fight like I did, thaat there was no reason to believe in who I coud be, that all the tears I cried were in vain and….

And I won’t believe you.

I did something. I helped. I had value.

And now that I’ve tasted it, the rest of life seeems so fucking bland.

This is a cry for help… give me a purpose, a reason, air to breathe and appreciate. Make me work for what I can do.

The steel wheels keep rolling, and I, in my solitary seat,

I try not to cry.



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