Baby I'm tired, So tired.

i smell like cigarettes and weed
i write poems in my car
im in a imaginary yet
real life hot box
my flame is burning
the weed is boofing

not to be strange
i cut myself some daria bangs
i can't believe i gave up my dream
of being a poetic beauty queen
i failed out of college
to write poems and smoke weed all day. 

I thought I was making good choices but

now

im

back in this depressed mess

i took in the mountains.
i loved the isolation
i lived in the tallest building
out in wyoming
not for poetry to be my story
but

hear out my poetic flare
as i began to tear
at my wounds
once and once again
self loathing
and bathing myself
in dirty bath water
in disturbing nightmares
a soul fell dim
into its hiding place.
all to people please .
without any pleasure for me.
truly sorry
down right sorry
to me myself and I
we don't really talk to each other
I took the I out of my poems
and put my soul into bible verses.
not really found yet not completely lost
i'm a destroyed soul weaving into a new cloth .