She's close. I'm closer

to everyone
there's another one
and she's ust like the last one
it's ridiculous I know. To be the type who has a type
as i type i wonder if I've got this situation overhyped
but i fell in love with her writing before i fell in love with her
the type of script that was written over a heartbreak,
by one who thought flashy words where a good enough cover
in that world she only has to give a minute
the type of script that thought it could hide it.

my years as a fighter put me in good sted.

heart was a sled

white snow of sorrow.
glide till the end of tomorrow

She sounds and looks the same as my old girl but carries no baggage. so maybe i could manage. yeah, right. like im boyfriend material. I remember being clearly told... talking about feelings bringing me to the kitchen. and even when in the living room i didn't look at her as she drew on her wrists. throwing away each plea i did suggest. so as if. im not. That typeofguy. im a loner. im a loner. that doesn't mean im alo-... yes it does. that doesn't mean i can't enjoy it. that doesn't mean i cant get with someone else. i just have to up the game. more nights out, less looking at this new one. the new one. she's great, you'd like her.. she's good looking, funny and most importantly cutting. never had much of a sweet tooth me. it could work.
,
she's got a man, I've got something deep inside mocking every move I make, so every time she looks to me, I look away. before love, before, before i thought I had a chance I was charming. I actually remember her eyes. Deep dark green.  i never remember anyones eyes. Apart from The American. Why do the loves of before define the man I am now I could get her away from him. I could charm her away. into  an above chicken cottage life. what would i support her with? I got nothing. fuck. it's ridiculous. no chance.
I just want her. just so, i mean, she's so like the last one. it's so close to being perfect. I can get her. then get her to love me. and then... i can break her heart.
and i can finally be the winner. and watch her cry.
is that so much to ask?

Slowly but surely vanity creeps up on me.

I've had enough of dressing like a kid. Enough of looking like a feeling like a kid. I want to hurry up and be the man I know I can be the one that's inside of me. Or maybe he isn't. Maybe this guy needs to be found through hard work and dedication to the causes I believe in. If only there were some causes I believed in. To be completely honest I'm telling all of you right now I'm not going back. Not to my old stomping ground or ways. I have to be egotistical and vain and let myself know I'm better than the people I met and the things I did to them the things I did with them. No sleeping around in body or mind (thanks camera obscura). So that's gone. I'm now a blank slate. I have less friends than fingers but thankful for it. I will build with laugh drink fight and die for them. And only them. I learnt something harsh already: not everyone wants the same thing as me especially something I've been longing for badly. What I'm supposed to think is that my life isn't a story it's just a life but I don't think that's quite right despite understanding I'm not giving up on that notion. That life isn't a story. It is. And that's why I like writing. I'm supposed to be writing now but this is what I'm thinking and inside my head it keeps rocking and racking my brain it's not pain but it draws my eyebrows down and my sunny demeanor isn't what it should be. But I've never been one for moaning or having a love that's unrequited so I'll just face it and it'll be accepted and already it's easier to deal with. Just, came so close to the end of lonely almost finding serendipity only to be plucked into something that I suppose will eventually been told apparently will-of course- be better for me. Fuck me if I wasn't fucked already. So what I'm doing is stand up comedy a little poetry writing a play and spending more time with my family. Stand up is slacking but only because that stuff is hardly temporary after all I may be doing that for my eternity that may be the beginning of how I make proper money. Poetry is easy because my minds just come from swimming in love and now I can write that down and get back into the groove. The play's the thing and that too I've been struggling. The subject is just so close though but maybe seeing as my actual lesson is learnt the story can now have somewhere to go. Despite having such good company (daily) I still get urges to leave this place like Ricky. But even he said this city is in me. I don't love Camden town I hate and am Camden town and hate that I am it. I feel this place owes me something and maybe in my unsaid vanity I believe this city, this city yeah it kind of needs me. To show the pretenders that lie daily and the beautiful and funny stories that could only be (and again with the vanity) told by me. So I'll be doing me. Let him breathe please. Just a moment before I do something drastic and reek havoc on a bunch of punters who probably couldn't H-and-L handle it. I'm going to let thunderbolt take the wheel temporarily, make the Ultimate Warrior understand that I'm doing my thing you see on friday finally hang with Dempsey finally and maybe, maybe slowly with working and dedicating I can someday be the man I hope to be. But how many comedians do poetry?