fighting the need for companionship  can be some hard shit to quit –                                 can just as easily keep it lit and the joint between my lips,                                                       as if I’m not an addict – but I’ve had it with feeing inadequate or out of it –                             I doubt it  would be a problem if I thought less or                                                             addressed  how much I obsess over rejection,                                                                     because that’s how my depression always starts:

I feel my heart start to come apart, so I clutch the broken parts,                                         even though I’m smart enough to know I can’t hold on too long or                                       get stronger, prosper, or conquer the monsters in my past by                                       writing fast because my words only cast a shadow over how shallow my soul is,               and hides how cold I feel when even writing doesn’t hold my head together;            wonder whether my measure for success has been an added pressure                         comes from passion to be better or just at the center of what I let her take –

I made the mistake of using my love like a keepsake                                                                 for the sake of faking that i didn’t ache –  and                                                                             It’s why I hate to stay awake and feel like I’ll break                                                                     if I take another chance on romance – wonder if I maybe                                                     need some distance for reassurance my existence is more than just written,                especially if just one admission can be like remission –                                                               so I just need someone to listen, because I never envisioned                                           having to make a decision between sanity, someone loving or trusting me;                           It’s a deep anxiety that’s like finding out that my personal wealth                                     comes from who I tell myself I am, which makes it clear I should take a stand and  shouldn’t give a damn about who a lover thinks I am –                                                          ultimately it’s like trying to walk on quicksand                                                                          I’m done with needing to be forgiven for my ambition,                                                     because is there was only inscription atop the crucifixion of my stress, it’d read:

maybe now I can rest, make some progress, because  withdrawal is a process of saying  “I’m not this and  have fought this for too long to acting tough or forget a minority of one and not love is more than enough  if it’s just me with who I’ll become”