Miserable phase

This is the rubbish bit. The counterweight to the inspiration, the ambition, the beautiful perceptions. This is the late, late night, alone, wanting something to fill the desperate emptiness. Wanting to tear myself apart, to run away. Wanting to break down and cry. Selfish whore. Want, want, want. Think of something better. But the decks of my mind are listing and whatever thoughts I have, they fall down into the cold dark ocean. I hate this.