i started journaling in .txt files,
and have put a stop to it.
Well, my brain has put
a stop
to
it.

i feel as if i have come here to die.
its an emotional reaction.
a new house, quite undone,
with horrendous features,
that may last a while longer.

So this says, I can't travel,
that eternal salve, so i thought,
but now have to pay in excess
every year, to maintain a house
i do not want, and never will.

childish, i cannot even
conjure a way
towards physical death,
yet i am old enough
to know of its coming,
rather, i, have taken up
dieing inside, to myself,
to all my dreams,
that rot like flowers,
never having
been brought
to seed.