I am typing random sentences, but none of them seem to work.

but not how it should be

                    doubt is a possibility

blue skies, blue hopes, walls painted a blue that looks like they belong to a bore who broods and who mopes
about the fact that he can't pick up a paintbrush and make a stroke
a flick of the wrist and some bristles he broke
but painter, oh painter, worry not about your room
there are bigger things to worry about
like painting the skies
turning them a fine sand yellow with a concentrated doze of lethal sunshine when you feel burnt up
saturating them with a mix of grays and blacks and blues and reds when the pain can't stop
flicking the brush onto canvas and making stars for a sky that's not well lit at all
running it in circles to make a repetition of a mission into a hole
don't stop now, you're on a roll, but what?
why are you stopping?
damn it, you always do this crap
why did you even start painting it, if you knew that it would be a defeat
the ten time champion of the world, weighing almost nothing at all
it's the side of your room, just one side, waaalllllllllllllll
winning by a knockout of your imagination
like watching a train skipping your station
at two fourty six am
when you're two blocks away
thinking how you'll get home
or if you should even try
look at that paint dry

There are few cold days in the winter anymore. It used to be that snowfall would make me shiver and bundle up. I don't want a winter puffed coat or new boots or anything to keep myself warm. Everything is already too cold and that's alright.

I find it more and more painful to deal with the things she tells me. Painful memories that play out as movies in my mind. Every detail adding a bit of polish to a reel that never seems to cut off and stop.

I'm hurting very badly these days.

ten ton boulder rolling down a small anthill
falling face-down into the insect world
who knows how many I've killed
to end up this way, whatever it might've took
rumbling inside, as the ground shook
every day has been a battle for a personal goal
peeking out, from the ground, like a blind mole
"you're all alone", whispering to myself again
looking down at my dick to see that I'm a man
inner strength defeats, self-eating
melanoma-treating
quietly sitting, as keys hit
keeping myself to hit something else
to get rid of this stress
possibly my family, most likely me, maybe you
everything that ever seemed to be true
has been so worthless
so mundane, in comparison, to anyone else's day
although, fuck it
"anyone else" matters none
need to keep myself from being over-run
by traitors, thieves, lovers, leavers, bees
"be nothings", "frees",                    me
unplug from the machine, but not entirely
partially, for the sake of future-end
keeping myself on life-support
for now
to see what the future holds
around the bend
friend, heh, friend

It's a more difficult choice now. It's not just about my future or the future of people, strangers, fuck-them-all's. There's an angle to this election where Obama could prove to change the United States Government for the better. He lacks the weakness of Kerry or the un-marketability of Gore and could actually win the election. Sure, he has a variety of faults, idealistically rabid decisions, and associations with assholes and racists, but so does McCain. I could make a minor, yet damaging move by voting for McCain, but that's just a product of self-destruction. Should I try to believe in a better future, just once, while it's possible?

eh

My vote would be make pointless by the thousands of people afraid of a black president anyway. -_.