life is a jumbled poem and the late night write my original quotes, notes, passing thoughts, rambling, random, rants, rubbish, shit writing., short except of my life, struggling, the late night write, venting 4:12 am
Sitting nude next to an open window
on the 7th floor
& I have a joint in my fingers
I don’t normally drink gin
but it was purple
& I do love the color
I don’t know if I prefer to sway over the hot bath
or the cold street
I don’t know if I want someone to look up or if I wish to fall down
All I’m sure of
is that I shouldn’t be smoking this joint in the apartment.
–A
life is a jumbled poem and the late night write death, dunkiegail, emo, insomnia, loss, memorys, morning, mushroom man, mushroom man and baby bird, poetry, raymond, sadness, struggling, the late night write, writting 6:17 am
Sometimes I think about him and I miss him so much that it hurts
and in my pain I think I’m selfish for wanting one more conversation by the river
he doesn’t even need to hold me or touch me I just want to talk to him
one more time to toast with him and talk about the universe
To scold him for some of his opinions and then listen to all of his opinions
morning is so hard sometimesI feel like it can never end
I envy the people who go through all of the Motions all at once when they lose someone
I feel like I’ve locked so many things away that all the important things are in the back
there’s no way to get to them
but sometimes the light hits them just right and there they are looking back at me demanding that they are as important as they are and that I acknowledge them
just like that there’s a crack in the bucket
there’s a leak and before I can patch it it’s spilling all over the floor
but I always managed to seal it up
for a brief moment I had to be there and I have to write
it’s the only way to stay functional it’s my only Outlet
even though I once thought I was good at it regardless of if I am currently
its part of me
it’s all the notebooks under my bed
it’s all the regretful things that I wrote down
it’s morning it’s all of it
it’s me and i really miss him sometimes.
life is a jumbled poem and rando thoughts and the late night write acceptance, crap writting, poetry, rants, the late night write 4:53 am
fucking nostalgic
I’m catching feelings
I’m thinking about all the golden years
I just want to go back
but the only thing I have in front of me is the future
what kind of adult progresses that way?
I just miss you
I miss all of you
I just want you here with me
Chilling casually
What happened to the good old days?
Don’t you remember? backyard barbecues and cards Night
I’m so tired of fighting with him
All of him
every him
I just want to go back to the good old days
but all I have is the emptiness in front of me
Be an adult
make the money
Be independent
lay the Bed Rock
I just want to go back
To when we were young
No credit debt
no inferiority complex about not being stable Can’t we just remember when we went to the Riverside?
t-shirts and swimsuit bottoms
yelling at loons like we were mermaids
But now we have bills
The fairy houses won’t fit us now
Can’t you recall the temperature on the porch? Perfect for sleeping bags
and long stories
do you remember when the bat flew in the house?
The stunned look on his face outside in the air
introduce to Freedom
Playing dead for fear repercussion
before taking flight
realizing his potential
and how he flew then
into the pitch of Darkness
not knowing where he’s going
but to the air
that was only his
in that moment
And in our past
rando thoughts and the late night write can't sleep, insomnia, one liners, shorts, the late night write 9:06 am
If insomnia was a person I would punch them Square in this fucking jaw and I’d keep punching. I’d punch like One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest crazy pants, insane person. I would go ham on an insomnia. I just want to anthropomorphize the disease so I can conjure a mental image of the severe ass whooping that I would lay down upon that poor physical representation. It would be murder. It would be a murder people would write books about. It would be a murder that podcast would do episodes about an every True Crime podcast would be like yeah that girl it was far too much.
life is a jumbled poem and men suck and the late night write couples, crap writting, insanity, insomnia, literature, loss, love, men, moving forward, notes, numb, passion, poems, poetry, rant, rubbish, sadness, shit writing., the late night write, unfinished 4:19 am
Without him I shall write a thousand tragic endings, with Newfound freedom I shall let my inspiration go wild. With its own agency it will fly across the page ending only in a bonfire of a million notebooks, none fit for the eyes of any reader. Free in body but not in spirit. I lament my own folly. A trick I have played on myself. the only punchline is an unfinished poem and not even a good one.
life is a jumbled poem and life stuff and the late night write I'm scared, moving, moving forward, poems, poetry, seeking change, the late night write 7:34 am
I’m nervous and I’m scared
I’m scared of going there
I’m afraid to return
I’m thinking of my love
when the truth
He comes to learn
if I want to succeed
I must leave my past
Fresh start, go in blind
but how can I leave a whole life and dysfunctional true love behind
I’m trying to be brave
but I’m running out of steam
I feel like crying
and I feel like dying
And under the moon with birds chirping
in a graveyard I will scream
I hate saying goodbye.
life is a jumbled poem and the late night write birthdays, Irl Writing desk, life, poems, the late night write 5:06 am
[Easy to read, not my chiken scratch version.]
33 minutes ago was my
Birthday
I am awake at 12:34 p.m.
feeling remorse for 26.
great lines for five or six different poems, Clouding my brain.
none of them correlate and all are unfinished.
barely a thought.
I know you want me to say I’ll get through it, I’ll be okay.
Maybe I’ll be okay, it doesn’t feel like it but I’m not a doctor.
I didn’t finish school, I can’t finish this poem and I’m still awake.
27 unfinished, alone and awake.
happy birthday Abby.
-AsL
=^.^=©
the late night write life, rubbish, shit writing., sorrydearreaders, the late night write 9:18 am
I was inspired, and I had the right fule. My fingers couldn’t keep up. All the books and paper have been boxes and I’m dammed to this screen. So I’m conclusion I tried to write, it was to be something worth reading as well but I’m sorry readers. Tonight I can’t make you a grate vison. I can’t pull from my soul a dark poem or two. I have no story’s to tell not even one tail and I definitely cannot give you a novel. Sadly I don’t even have a one liner for you, not even a limric. So I’m sorry my readers, I did try.
A
=^.^=©
life stuff and the late night write my original quotes, poem, short except of my life, the late night write 9:11 am
I can’t believe I’m up this late again
I can’t believe I still haven’t gotten good sleep since I got back
I can’t believe how little I’ve done to pack and prepare
I can’t believe how much has changed during such a slow passing of time
I can’t believe my brother did that
I can’t believe I’m moving back
I can’t believe I don’t I should go home
I just can’t believe it.
life is a jumbled poem and songs and limericks and the late night write poems, the late night write 8:19 am
Things are amiss
they’re not as they should be
I had a plan
written down
but it’s too dark for me to see
I’ve stumbled through the crossroads
a pebble in my shoe
I was content to wonder
but then I met you
you made my compass needle fly
the sun I found burnt my eyes
and I wanted to fumble back into the dark
your a wonderful but terrifying new start
and I’m scared.
the writing desk 