Hooked

I know I should say goodbye. 

I should probably just walk away and let you go. 

But Paris has me hooked on you like whore on cash money. 

Like a dealer on clear crystal. 

Like the girl doing lines in the bathroom. 

Like the overweight, out-of-shape, middle aged alcoholic on a bender. 

But I can't let you go. 

And that's the problem.

I need you too much. 

I can't let you go because poetry is free and therapy sucks ass. 

Because I need you to breathe.

Lost in Argentina.

Get me OUT of here.

I want out.

Nothing in life worth having ever comes easy, but I just never thought it would be this HARD.

I want to be grateful, and I am.
But sometimes it just seems easier to give up and

l
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  t

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This depression is eating away at the person who lives within, all I can wonder is what will be left of that girl if it succeeds.

Don't cry for me Argentina.
Because you see, I barely know you.

If you should feel so inclined to weep unwanted tears, weep those tears of blood into your pool of vanity.
Fore that is what they are.
Tears in VAIN for a lost, wandering soul they will never find.

But go on and cry Argentina, the truth is, I will be waiting around in the corners of my mind to soak in the pity until I'm pulled under.

But my love, my soul, my dear Argentina. Don't cry my darling, because the thing is...

I'm not wandering. I'm thoroughly and forever...

LOST