Saturday, February 25, 2012

and, and, and

I feel so empty.
My camera, leaves a space
in my heart. Not like sinking,
like a hunger, that grows heavier-
an absence that doesn't allow me
the beauty in the world.
Any beauty.

I'm going to order film right now.

Why do I have to do anything
that I don't love?
I just want to photograph and paint and write
what I want
and die.

Let's live in Spain together.

Everything I write has line breaks now.
After so many IMs I can't help but separate
my thoughts, into lines. It's as if
I don't have enough breath
to think in regular form, I don't feel like I do
anymore. Or
like I'm always writing poetry, but what I write is
not beautiful.

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