Ben Bonkoske

I’m very bad at finishing anything, so the end of the day makes me anxious that I might complete something. I doubt I will make it to the end of my life. I started my day off feeling rejuvenated by a heavy sleep and good dreams about my childhood friends. Roughly 14 hours of forgiving myself. Once I awoke, the rest of the day was filled with convincing myself I am not good enough until I finally gave up. It is a slow-burning depression. I can never find the time for what I love until it is too late and after I have made enough excuses to disqualify any potency to my words. I miss people. When was it easier? I am thankful David Foster Wallace killed himself because he shows that beauty is not something that can be held onto. Just another day wasting away. I’m addicted to so many things. After I’ve given up so many others. I can’t let myself live.