In high school I wrote poetry, but nothing that anyone would ever see. Poetry wasn't cool, and I wanted to be cool - so I wrote it, and hid it. Before we got rid of our old Pentium 2 I remember printing all the poems I wrote out, so, just incase any of them were any good, I wouldn't lose them forever. And so all my poems sat lifeless in a stack of white printer paper and as I moved, they moved with me. This morning I found them while looking for a Glycemic Index book for my mother. I sat in my underwear and read them, and starting now, will be publishing some of them right here on my blog - mainly because, whether it's cool or, I just don't give a shit now.

Now I know why people kill themselves... Their sick of life. Sure, you could have told me that, but I feel their pain. I'm tuned to the agony of lack of enjoyment. I had flare, once, and now it's vanished. Where? I don't know really. I'm sure it will be back, it's just a matter of time I guess. People feel like life has nothing left to offer them, they've gotten their fill, their fix. There's nothing more pathetic than a man at the depths of an ether binge. The cool evening breeze keeps me from sliding south. It's life's little idiosyncrasies that keep me sane. Sometimes I feel so sane... it drives me crazy. Ironic I know, but then again sometimes the only reason why I write is to stop the cursor from blinking.

There you have it. Volume 1 of "Poetry From When I Was Young and Wished I Knew What I Know Now". As you can see it lacks even the rudimentary forms of a poetry, it does not rhyme, it hardly makes sense and posses not even a title.

writing under the influence,