little book of poems

i was so moved at the time
(or perhaps it was simply that i was so high?)
i had to have it.
3 days and counting, still can't find it.
i want to feel that way again.
remember the warmth inside, the sense of...
that feeling of...
...words fail.
synchronictic misery?
the unfailing certainty that someone else knew
without question, no more the mystery. the same quiet solace.
that the pain was more than a power ballad
it was more things than it was not.
not simple.
no teen anthem
no winsome darkness to emulate, immolate and duplicate
just this knowledge, put to rights.
i wanted to share it, test other waters.
get a corroborating witness in my defense.

shhhh just checking

hopefully the banalities of my humdrum are no longer of interest to my foe.
been journaling by hand a lot but paper tends to get fucked up so...