sigh, so it appears i build up my statues & neglect my seeds

I just need you to know that I still recall the comfort i found when ever I'd seriously contemplate suicide; and i am simply saying this not to guilt you but only to inspire a perverse sense of joy. Honestly when you were with me, really with me, suicide was all that I truly thought of; but that's cause I constantly feared one day you'd vanish from my life, and empty handed I'd be, completely hollow once more (and that did become reality). I have nothing to remember you other than my own tainted memory; because you refused to smile with me and pose in any photographs, so retrospect now makes me wonder if what reason whispers in my ear is true or not. I think so, I just really don't want to admit it; because my memory of you is perfect, I do not desire to taint it with thinking you really as crass as everyone else I encounter. Heard you told your roommate I'm not a lover but more like an experiment you're going after; because you wonder if you could survive the fate of being my girlfriend, head you say my life is just a horrible shit show of any mess; because I'm miserable, so even in sobriety I'm a terror to get along with, so I say this sincerely, I'm glad you got away. Glad to hear you got out and are doing better as I try to stay here, stay above the ground- out of that hole I dug for me. Breathing air is a miracle still, I find it harder yet to smile and be grateful for that thing called living; you were right, you know- my life is that of a wretched old 1940s crime drama-mystery show, but it just ain't been canceled yet. Velvet touch is how I recall your skin felt; but I'm probably wrong, as you have told everybody- I'm trapped in the hell of repeat. I'm so old now I feel as if I've been this way since before I met you; but you did your voodoo to make me worse, my bones ache with a hymn similar to those psalms you hear sung at spotty funerals. No one would come, you said to everybody; if I did die, I'd be lucky if maybe even my dealer bothered to show up (and even he will be looting my wallet, looking for the paper I owe him still. Two hundred and fifty plus the juice, oh man, my head hurts from attempting to figure out the squeeze on the points to that label). Get me high, I say, get me outta here. My life is that of a joke to everybody I ever knew; so I shed myself of fallacy; and I'll surprise everybody that I may still have one last trick hidden in me. Sober me this and sober me that, who do you think will make the last laugh audible? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- sigh sorry guys (if they're any left) but i've just been busy posting on writing-workshop sites... doesn't feel like many fans remain here anyways... so sorry for the lateness on any post at all; but i assure you i am still pounding hard a way at the keyboard... you can still purchase a digital copy (for now) @: www.novelled.com AND as some may know i do have physical copy's for sale.. there will be a tattoo shop that will be hosting my book for sale from their store front... thank you!