Thursday, April 22, 2010

TO: The Verb: To wonder why

I once wrote poems
about throwing away
the negative things in my life.

What do I write about now?
I just feel like I'm going insane
half of the time that I write.
You should see some of
the things in this little journal.
They are as putrid, gray-tinted,
and sick as vomit.
I worry about myself.
But this is what I love.
This is my exact purpose,
for now.
So I will write, and write some
more. And I will do so until my
mind's ink runs dry. I love it
all, and if you love it too,
then I love you.
I will write until I cannot.
OR
until everything both vile and beautiful
(both arrogant and humble)
(both sick and healthy)
(both old and new)
(both ending and starting)
is gone. Yes, I will do this until
tomorrow morning, and FOREVER.

Love,
Ben

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