Now i was 18/out there on the block/Selling drugs/With a gun at my waist/And for people I had no love

My current goal is to put something new up here every two weeks or so. I'm trying to write at least one new thing a week so that should give me enough to hold onto. I like to hold onto a few that no one has seen. This poem isn't great. It's actually pretty stereotypical Whitelaw. If you've read a lot of my stuff you've seen these themes over and again. Aw well.

“insufficient data”

do i wish that i was never born?

i don’t know what the alternative would have been

i don’t have enough information

to make an informed decision

do i wish that i was dead?

not right now, things are okay

but that could change

at any moment

the frailty of existence

tempts me into low times

but i’ve heard that there are better things

than being sad and alone

i might investigate that theory any day now

 or not, and I’ll stay where I’m sitting

as i’ve done for years

bleeding ink like tears onto paper, or into nowhere