Winter in Denver

So play for me the chorus to the American Dream. I have forgotten how it sounds. I've lost what it means to make things right again. I've lost what it means to Love and get by with almost nothing. Something changed in my mind the other day. Something that I hope to one day replace with someone special. Until then, I suppose I will just sit back and live the life I was meant to from the beginning. There is really nothing else to do but cry and lose what make you, you. Only to be re-born the next day as something magnificent and unlike anything the world has ever seen.

I've never been this way before. Maybe I don't need to replace anything. Maybe things have fallen into place just as they should. If that's true, why do I still care about being careful? I am too nice a person to get by in this world, get by in this town. Get by in my own mind. I can't think of anything lately. A sort of writers block. But this is blocking they way I think about life, love and the world outside my door.

It is so fucking cold outside. In more than one way. More so in the way that traps the soul in an everlasting blanket of numbing pain and sorrow. There are no more leaves on any of the trees outside. That saddens me in a way I never thought possible. I guess I'm just used the the fucking warm weather. I guess I am more American than I thought I was. I get so used to something, that when any sort of change comes sweeping by, I can't help but recoil into a shell of what I used to be until not even I can recognize who is underneath the turmoil. Until not even I can recognize who is the pussy under the shame and doubt. Sometimes I hate what I am.

Other times I find myself in a place that I hold over other people. I hold myself higher in such a way that it is almost divine providence that I would get knocked on my ass and weep for the things that I've done and the people I've crushed in the process.

Fuck progress. Progress only leads to more pain in the road ahead of us.