I wake in the wreckage of yesterdays, my body a ledger of broken promises. The mirror tells two truths— the ghost I was, and the woman still painting herself back in.Syringes of sunlight pierce the blinds, the light hurts, but I let it— a small mercy that burns cleaner than the flame I once chased.In the ache, I find rhythm. In the ruin, I find rhyme. Every brushstroke bleeds confession, every lyric claws toward air.They called me lost; I call myself becoming. The canvas doesn’t flinch when I tremble. It takes the shaking hand, turns it into something holy, scarred, and alive.Survival isn’t soft; it’s a howl made human. Art is the only pulse I can trust— beating fierce, a reminder that I am still here.

is this atill going?

Truly sad i was thriving now I must go back to dying

​The air in here is poison, thick with lies and "m30" smoke, Every morning is a battle, every breath a jagged choke. I’m trapped between a mother’s nod and a brother’s hollow stare, While my man is out there tricking, selling souls for one more share. He comes home smelling like a stranger, pupils pinned to dust, In a house where love is buried under layers of ash and rust. It’s a cycle in a cage, a family curse in every vein, And if I stay another week, I’ll be the one they leave in rain. ​I don’t need a fancy palace or a diamond on my hand, I need a cage with wheels on it to get me out this land. I need an RV—a sanctuary, a fortress made of tin, To put a thousand miles between my future and this sin. A rolling miracle to be my kitchen and my bed, To drown out all the screaming voices living in my head. If I had that key, that blessing, I’d be gone before the dawn, Before the dealer hits the corner, before the next fix is drawn. ​I’m desperate for the highway, for the gas and for the gears, To wash away a lifetime’s worth of fentanyl and tears. How can I get clean in a room where everyone is high? How can I find the truth when every word they speak is lie? I need a clean slate on the pavement, a life that’s mobile-bound, Where I don’t have to look for ghosts on every inch of ground. An RV is my lifeline—it’s the only way I thrive, It’s the difference between a headstone and actually being alive. ​I’m screaming for a blessing, for a way to break the chain, To trade this toxic sickness for the desert and the rain. Give me the wheel, give me the road, give me a chance to fly, Because if I don't get out of here, I know I’m gonna die.

I'm here! I'm here! Stealing a few moments to write a feel. What am I feeling in the time that I am stealing? I'm feeling wise My new course arrives My fingers strive My soul feels alive. I'm here! Come here!