Here

It’s been a minute, but I’m here. Where ever here is; let it be in pain, in joy, in love,
in the ever pursued present. There

have been a series of nights designed to disable / hope for a better tomorrow / where the sight of light / and the thought of might / made bones bend unto themselves / and thoughts / those detrimental thoughts / all sew(ed) / bend.

I’ve come / I’ve came here / lies the accuracy of a picture / of where I’ve been / and not where I’ve been seen / a picture / perfect in its passion for indignation / perfect in its preface for angst.

In agony I lay and press play:
Don’t ask me if anxiety runs in the family when you know it runs the family.
Don’t ask me if I work well under pressure – calm is my halo.
Don’t ask me to work towards something when that something is your pocket.
Don’t ask me to stop loving – love is my protest.
Don’t ask me if I’m a people person when your greatest property has been people.
Don’t ask me to like you – I like myself too much.
Don’t ask me why I’m sick – health is your luxury.
Don’t ask me.
Anything.

They’ve taken the simplicity out of life.
And every inch of me feels the side effects of being buried alive.

• The Hills of East Los Angeles

All content is a L.A. CORONA original unless otherwise posted.