Words on paper.

Here it goes another line, another rant and another wasted moment. 

I have spoken my peace and bored all my friends.  Sought guidance from the sages and written more words on paper than you deserve and yet here are more.

And more will come inevitably, until the pen wears out

What is this crazy pattern and why on earth am I still stuck in orbit of this insane universe that stopped making sense so many years ago?

Who said I had to hold this torch for you forever? 

Certainly not me, because I have been blowing it out, hoping for peace,  for years now.

You are my muse I suppose, lucky me.

 I never asked for broken inspiration, but you gave it to me with such force that I had to accept it.

I have said good night to you, I have said good bye to you.  I have said I am over you and I that I can’t stand to look at you.

I don’t want you or what you are giving away to someone else, and I certainly have no more energy to spend on you.

The world will just have to be satisfied with the words on paper

I have no idea when the morning will bring me solace from wasting my thoughts on you.

Until that fateful first morning light, I hope you feel all this that I am throwing at you, and you hurt just as badly as I hurt as I scribble these words on paper, in your honor. 

 I use them all in the name of something toxic.

They are all that I have left.