DRAWN TO THE WORMS

I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Everything, if you're looking at it correctly, is just so utterly sad. Even my happiest moments are comprised mostly of sadness. More and more, being anything or doing anything just means I'm not being or doing something else. It's funny though, I get excited about the strangest things. I was filling up my car earlier and I fucking nailed it right at $20.00. I can't even tell you how much pleasure it gave me, more pleasure than even writing a good, strong poem. I don't know, man. I've just never even come close to being anywhere near a place like this. I feel astonishingly alone. But then I don't even really mind it either. There's almost no fear. I really feel I could face my own execution bravely, maybe even with a smile on my face? Wouldn't that be truly glorious, to go out like that? Ya know, I keep finding myself drawn to the worms. There's just something about worms. Every time I see one, I feel this need to observe it, to pay attention to its movements, to pay respect to its existence. I don't know, I just feel like they're trying to tell me something.