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It’s been 8 months since my wife left me with the kids.

I have the divorce papers on the floor next to me.

I never got closure, or any kind of understanding. I don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore.

I started writing, as some sort of creative outlet or new way of living. I don’t even have the care to do that anymore. Who wants to read hella depressing poetry anyway?

So I stopped eating three days ago.

Just hoping for some spiritual event to give my heart the will to live or perhaps I’ll just pass out one of these hours and it’ll be over.

I don’t want to be like hyper aware of all my faults, I don’t want to live like this anymore.

Life isn’t going to get better for me. It’s always been degrees of separation and dislocation starting from years and years before I even had agency.

I wanted to hope that maybe I could find a way to love that doesn’t make me sick.

Having three kids by the time you’re 28 and each of their mothers leaving you is hard.

What kinda life is this? A kid of divorce making three more? I don’t want to work, I don’t want to eat, I don’t want to smoke, I don’t want to think

I’m sick of this. I hate bills, I hate expectations, I hate hope. I hate dreaming of a possibility just for it to take everything from me in the end.

I don’t want to be like this anymore.

I don’t want help.

I just want someone to hit the lights for me, because I’m not brave enough to do it myself.