Ben Bonkoske

Sorry I am so sad. I am out of words. The lonely few that come to my muse’s aid will hopefully console my delicate existence. Once we go down the rabbit hole of self-improvement, and “changing our life around,” it gets harder to stop and smell the roses. I care so much about my brain, beautiful or ugly as it may be. People are not perfect, but I am always warming up for the “most-disciplined” Oscar speech. Everything is out of reach, only a few feet away. A doughnut would solve all my problems. If only I owned a bakery. Hungry, Hungry, Hungry. Ol’ sugar will make me unlovely. I don’t want to start tomorrow late, but all I think about is when the depravity ends, and a blissful sleep I slip into. Deep sleep now that I have no reason to get up in the morning. I lost yet another friend (two in one day) over something less important. Another tally for writing. By the time I’m published nobody will want to read me. I’m such an asshole apparently. Of course, a part of me thinks everybody else is crazy, but deep down, I know it’s me. If there weren’t people willing to jeopardize relationships for better art, art would be a waste. I am a bad artist, but a worse friend.