by Brett Stout
I sit here night after night looking for something. I sit here night after night looking for someone. I sit here night after night looking for anything. I have a disease, a disease of loneliness and isolation. The grasp of winter depression and angst is here again. I procrastinate and make excuses. I feel more human than normal. I have their weakness for now, but hopefully not forever. I’m constantly disillusioned and paranoid. I want something but I don’t know what. Maybe there is light at the end of narrow tunnel, but the light has not been shown to me yet. Destroying myself has brought no answers and cured no illness. The hangovers, random numbers in my phone and empty bank accounts have brought no happiness and only temporary tattooed joy to my life. I don’t have an answers and I don’t know where to go from here or what to do. I will be sitting here night after night burning cigarettes and light bulbs until I do.