Jealousy & paranoia. What is he doing? Where is he? Who is he with? What drug(s) is(are) he doing?
How is he?
I tell myself that the answers don't matter because it's none of my business as I've now made it that way. I could just as easily go out and fuck away my frustration and it wouldn't be any of his business either. That's rage typing. A heart--heavy--thinks that the answer matter; thinks that he needs to be good and heal himself, but what do I know of that?
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The daily jazz of my mind, as pure & honest as possible; but know that words are themselves filters of the original thought/idea.
