When Pisces go to war, there’s never a shortage of broken hearts.

We Pisceans know how to swim without water

I talk about writing and write so much because aside from music, it’s the only thing giving me peace and reason and purpose. Everyone is looking for answers but I don’t have them and I’m not the answer, but I feel like if I could see the face of God, I’d be better, healed—absolved. I feel like a bastard and like I’m pushing a Ponzi scheme every time someone comes to me for guidance and I push them to the “right” path when I’m just as lost as they are. And it makes me feel like shit every time someone wants to look up to me, or when people call me strong or brave or amazing or want to tell me how “great” I am. And then, the next moment, I’m fine, until the next tide of emotion comes again.

I’m just a person who’s had a lot of time to think—a flawed and fucked-up person.

I’ve looked at so
much porn that
every woman I meet
looks vaguely
familiar

But now that I’m scrubbing
toilets on my hands & knees,
with four degrees,
I realize that one escape route
leads to another

I’m breaking
down
and I’ve
got so
little time
to
do it