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December 04, 2016

It seems like an endless night that will only end when I do.

I'm sitting on a train and I can smell the last bum that was here. I don't really look at the suffering of others and think of how great it is that I'm not experiencing that; I just wonder how much longer or what I have to lose to get to where they are.

Destiny is releasing another sparrow racing update. When they released it last year i played it so much. I constantly want to escape into games because I feel like I'm always being rejected by this world.

My brother is coming here again tomorrow. Now that I'm sleeping on my floor I'm worried about what he will do.

The destiny update will be out after I'm sleeping in my car again.

I just want this night to end. I don't want to cry on the train. I don't want to keep treading water. I don't want all my potential buried under poverty.

I think if I knew how to budget better I'd be in a much better place. It's not the games and fun stuff that's eating up the majority of ky money. Just food. I feel ashamed of that. I feel ashamed of loving games so much. I feel ashamed of who I am. And I'd like to grow. I'd like to get stronger. Healthier. I thought of all the years of fast food in me. I don't know how much a body can take of overly processed overly sugared consumption, but I think I'm putting mine to its limits. My writing is suffering. It's time to stop.

I'm passing my past lives now. The house on the hill I used to visit gen years ago. That girl is married now. No more coke and whoring around for her. I pass the college that should have been about that time, but I was late. I pass the houses of girls I have slept with, girls I have fucked, girls I slept with who wondered why I didn't fuck them. I'm a mistake or a footnote or a non factor in all their lives. They grow up. And I keep passing our past lives. Wondering if I will ever return to mine. Wondering if I will ever be a whole person, instead of this mess of regret and painful memories.

Music still comes to me in dreams. It stays in my music memos, hummed sleepily as I leave my subconsciousness and enter the word of limitations. Glowing footprints that fade out as I adjust myself, clothe myself, prepare myself to do what seems like the height of human achievement when you're barely human, having a job. I just want to play the games and I want to die when I think about not playing them. I think I will have to buy a wireless system so I can play them from my car while the system is trapped in a house. It's not a lot of money for me. I waste so much on junk food. If I could stop spending recklessly it would be even less of an issue. But I could stop spending completely and it still wouldn't get me a home. You can work every day of every month and still not afford a place here. The transplants pay whatever on their salary. And all the people who serve them are just left to figure it out.

I might live in another room in the house. Its own kind of hell. But I think if I have it, I will be grateful every day tor it. Maybe someday I'll love on my own. Maybe someday I won't be pulled back in. Maybe someday I can be compassionate and kind to my mother f spite how much she has hurt me.

I don't want to go back to the car. I want this night to end. It's nine
a.m. but this night won't end.