i ate a donut and didn’t feel bad about it.

february 3rd, 2019 — 4:49 am.

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the submersion of life has been off balance by the interpretation that you have of you,

and it’s not your perspective that’s lifeless

it’s the lens that others look through to see you.

you strike with such vigilance at the image created so masterfully for others.

finishing the portrait portraying an idol equivalent to the crippling ambitiousness that captures your essence,

your personality,

your charm,

your nature,

your nicolas.

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and with every stroke of the brush you so wish someone would take from you

a masterpiece is finished.

audiences adore your captivating character, don’t they?

pleasantly and patiently waiting for the pulsation that is your poetry.

patrons participate in the portrayal of a pilgrimage from person to perfection,

yet they don’t see that this painting is not for you,

it’s for them.

that’s why it seems so perfect,

so impeccable,

so foolproof.

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the want for affection permeates the veins that tie around your need for attention

as the art made for dates dictates your character in vain.

vainly your vanity has prepared you for a war against you.

your insecurities are murderous,

and neither side is coming out victorious.

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it’s hard to be human when you’re only living for humanity.

it’s hard to feel alive when you’re living for what makes you lifeless.

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your art is immaculate.

the composition of your inner propaganda portrays a pleasant melody for the listener as they proceed with admiration.

you force feed your addiction for self worth by presenting a freed sinner

breaking from the restrictions, inflictions, and evictions of an angry tenant who’s pissed that you

left rows and rows of pbr cans and empty whiskey bottles on the floor.

you set aside your inner contradictions because you know that you never gave up papa’s medicine;

instead, you focused so wholly on His crucifixion,

and soaked in all of the benedictions received by those who had faith in you.

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but you also soaked in all the alcohol you could get your hands on.

not to mention the pain of your grandfathers death spiraling into self-hatred as you push aside any need to process his existence.

or the so-called lifelong relationship that controlled every aspect of you,

and instead of standing up for you, you’d rather lay down your life for them

because that what a good christian would do.

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a saint cloaked in liquor,

doped in metaphors of an honorable representation of yourself,

drunk from the waterfall of passion, preservation, and perseverance,

blacked out from the poison of devotion to the disposition that you are what they want you to be.

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repeat after me nicolas,

you are what they want you to be.

you are what they want you to be..

you are what they want you to be…

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but what about who i want to be?

what about this painting is so perfect?

this hostile, ill-boding, dismal, and uninhabited version of myself is imperceivable to the sustainability of my inner happiness.

and why shouldn’t i be happy?

why should my life be predicated on what others think of me?

why should i care about what anybody other than myself thinks of me?

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it’s because of you, this inner desire to please others, you are the reason i drank so much.

you are the reason i surfed through oceans of vodka,

because sitting on top of a board intoxicated by the numbness was better than the feeling of being untrue to myself.

the treason i committed to me was for all of all of you, and what for?

to feel a deeper appreciation transmitted from a part of my soul benefiting from beating the hell out of me;

betraying all that i’ve ever been so you could see heaven in me?

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it’s because of you that i never truly mourned my grandfather’s death.

i was warned not to diminish any portion of my painting by colluding it with inner turmoil.

and even at his last breath,

i didn’t cry.

i didn’t cry..

i didn’t cry…

he finished his life with his grandson’s soul in disproportion,

and i allowed that to happen to keep my masterpiece without blemish,

because that’s what a man would do, right?

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it’s because of you that i stayed codependent on a dependent who i couldn’t depend on.

crafting my dreadful degradation into a beautiful baby that she could care for.

milking away every piece of love for myself and feeding me a love for her and her alone.

maybe i’ll spend my life trying to make amends for leaving that relationship,

but what’s a girlfriend if the closest thing she was to a friend was similar to the jail keeper i came to love because they passed food into my cell?

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i’m not making amends for an unhealthy relationship, it’s time to make amends to myself for treating me like this.

transcend and transmit to the portrait portraying the old you that you are in love with you.

no longer will the opinions of strangers and those who don’t matter prescribe medications to deaden your elation.

exhilaration runs where frustrations took over your sensations, and gin will no longer be your sedation.

aspiration defeats the altercations

of a vocation

stationed to

the starvation of

the relation

you had with you.

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the foundation of my life will be described by me,

and the only pills prescribed will be the ones i take to heal myself from my former self.

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and with all that i once was,

as much as i hate to say it…

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nicolas,

i forgive you.

i forgive you..

100 times i forgive you…

and i love you dude.

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signed —

your first love,

you.