hold your tongue, boy. hold onto your breath.

writing's lost all its edge for me. proof is that i rewrote that first sentence three times before finding it 'passable'. words don't flow; they sound stupid. i miss being stoned and letting the sentences of unimportance flow out and away.
i miss. i miss. i miss.
sitting for hours in the dark pouring the day out of my mind, giving meaning to commas and capitals. what a dream it was, seeing as always i could very well convince myself that none of it happened, that it was all a dream.
that is all. that is all. nothing left at all.