I haven't felt fully comfortable in this diary, this space, for awhile, so I haven't been writing in it.
The last real fight with Liz that I can recall, with the melodramatic and selfish metaphors, they've robbed me of my ability to enjoy poetry. I can't open up that side of me without thinking of that and feeling sick, faux.
My brain's trailing off this like an old man's war stories.
Is it possible to steal poetry back?
Rewind -::- Fast-Forward