selling madness,

 to each person writing or reading, wether it is to vent , scream, or just because you are needing...
an outlet a release a beginning to an end, the start of the race, the feeling of sadness the feeling of defeat, your soul slain bloody torn and tattered as you lay on sweat stained sheets
mountains of paper, front and back, if there was space to write I held naught back, I have written everyday since my early teens, of anger, violence, betrayal, loving and living
I don't mean one or two a day I am talking about hours on end in my drugged up fucked up extended party in beast mode days.
napkins, backs of court papers, no matter what it was it seemed every thing empty screamed at me, I have had five draws that of course I partied away, cant have a bank account for the rest of my days
the real problem is not legal or morally inclined its the cleaning up of the rants I transferred from my dope embattled mind, what to do with it all , reading and sorting only led to an eight ball( and a 3 day binge,)
gas and an old trusty bic I am sure would do the trick, I cannot do that because it is all a part of me,no matter how happy or dark my mindset was as I wrote, straight from my very being, and none was given a candy coat.
my kids have taken some and my grand kids too, smiling or crying, I had no heart to tell them if it was about you.
I don't think I have enough partying in me to sort it all out, the memories it stirs comes at me like ocean waves, only strengthening my own self doubt.
who knows I might publish the couple jewels I might get lucky and find, under an  alias so as not to get the suit wearer"s asses in a bind