The End

Write? Why? What for? I think my writing days are done. Nobody cares about this writing thing anymore. By now everyone knows I hate my life. They should have figured out I don't have the best relationship with my family and that I've contemplated suicide at least twice a year over the last 3 years. In my case conflict always sells. When I was beefing with my brother or when I wanted to quit my job. When I started this 3 years go, I was looking for a way to let go of things that were affecting me. I had never written before. A dear friend encouraged me to begin a blog after reading my year end recap, so after midnight on the first day of 2011, I wrote my first Ghettoblaster.

Money Problems

Life is a never ending roller coaster of emotions. It never makes any sense. You can be OK then the littlest thing can ruin your mood. When your good your never at your best. When you at your best, you don't even know it. It seems like no matter what you have or who you are, you can be unhappy. You can be poor but content, so contentment can also be construed as happiness. 

Feed Me

I need a change, because I'm tired of nickel and diming my way though life.

Shaking my proverbial cup hoping for a hand out or even a hand up.

Can you spare a dime of your time? All I need is ten minutes.

To prove that I'm worthy of your philanthropy.

I don't want change, I want time.

I need to feed my soul with a steaming bowlful of attention.

Although I'm too poor to pay any, I thrive on it.

I live for it and die without it.

My belly empty but full of promises.

Reach deep down in your pockets and give me what you can.

A smile, or a 'how you doing?' will suffice.

It will keep me going for the rest of the day.

'Will work for friends' Sharpie on cardboard.

No, I will not drink it or smoke it, I will cherish it.

You have to trust that the best nation in the world is do-nation.

So don't pass me by with  your nose in the air as if I didn't exist.

I don't need your spare change or a sandwich.

I need you to acknowledge me and give me your spare time.

Feed my soul with companionship and my heart with love fruit.

Man can't live on work and mischief alone. Give me change. Feed my soul.

Inner Turmoil

I feel death pulling me close to the ground. I want to go on, but I could use the rest. Nothing would give me more satisfaction than to give up. Why keep going? When it's all said and done, none of it will matter. The world will forget what I sacrificed. My body is weak and continually breaking down. I want to brush the years of abuse and decay off, but I don't have the energy. Why continue? Nothing will be left of me when I'm done. I'm not the man I once was. I'm a fraud. A ghost. A restless spirit that has no home. Nothing makes sense anymore. I'd rather be a memory instead of a burden. I just want to close my eyes and take a final breath.