If I was stranded in the Sahara, my tears would certainly keep me quenched. Sadness is addicting, like meatheads at the bench. I think I’m starting to like pain. You know, the one that really feels like it. I’m happy for the most part, but grief covers me like a jacket. Who am I kidding? This writing shit, I can’t hack it. I went from kush and friends to medical history packets. I need sleep. To drift away without making a peep. I need a beautiful morning, some breakfast and baseball. You know, something boring. I love the rain, especially when it’s pouring. It makes me want to write, about the sadness that’s imploring. My mind, My God… Sometimes it’s haunted exploring. My thoughts are like women that have gone back to whoring; defeated.