To dreams of another’s imagining .

Again, I rise to stand.

From the weight I carry.

I don’t trust my next attempt.

Weary of flight.

Still a slave to these dreams…

More sketches from months before. Just want to show them before I’m not around to anymore. I’ve started new art and for the first time don’t care if I finish my ideas. There is no money in this, no future in me. The lie isn’t holding up anymore. My family wouldn’t give a damn if one person so insignificant as I found a new place to rot with the rest of what’s useless in their lives. It’s true and always has been. I’d like to be pushed out. Pushed over the edge where it will be too difficult and simply too late to undo what happens. Not taken back to something that will never work out.


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