Let's just say that I live a life of contradictions. All of the things that make me who I am are shown in the way I meticulously rephrase every sentence until it feels just right only to go back ten minutes later when I decide that it no longer works. Its in the way I can never finish anything until the last minute but somehow always manage to make it seem like I worked on it for days prior. Its in the way I can experience boredom but also not do anything to make my life more interesting. Its in the way I view everything, not through rose colored glasses, but instead through a grey film of analytical conclusions and detached thought patterns. There are many more examples of me but if I allow myself to ramble it may never end. 






Like a briar rose, he sunk deep into my soul.
His thorns scratched my fragile heart 
grasped that damaged vein
Until there was nothing but a ghost-like residue. 

A shadow of my former self clinging to the hope
A vain desperate desire
A need to rekindle the fires of my loss 

run away

Why do I attempt to dredge up the remnants of my withered body.
When I am bruised so deep

I am nothing but a memory
I am nothing but a dream
I am nothing at all.